


The Reel Thing

by yourevilspleen



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 151,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourevilspleen/pseuds/yourevilspleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo, a very popular ex-teen actor who has only played one role to date. Ulquiorra, an established young actor notorious for his failure to get along with people. Watch as they are brought together to breathe life into a pair of tragic lovers. AU.</p><p>- posted on ffnet since 2009: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5081381/1/The-Reel-Thing<br/>- this ao3 version is more polished, where several chapters have been slightly edited for grammar, dialogue and a smidgeon of plot</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn Chrysalis

"YOU WHATTTT?" An orange-haired young man shouted in surprise at his friend, who had just made a stunning revelation.

"Chill, dude! I merely submitted your name in for consideration." His friend lounged back in the armchair lazily, his hand running through his long red hair in all due nonchalance.

"AND YOU DIDN'T ASK ME? The hell, you stupid baboon!" The impetuous one continued his never ending rant fueled by a burst of fury that was directed at his friend's inconsiderate act.

"Hey, it has a good plot! Definitely can smoothen your transition from teen idol to serious thespian," the redhead chuckled at the sight of his riled up companion.

"Like hell it is. What was that again? Autumn Chrysalis? HA! Frickin insects is what your definition of a 'good plot' is," the orange-haired man scowled in frustration.

Meet Kurosaki Ichigo, owner of a proud crown of rebellious orange hair that stuck up in all possible angles a mathematician could calculate, and also, the latest teen sensation in Japan. The one who could easily send truckloads of teenage girls, and even boys into a heightened state of frenzy just by a mere wink in their direction. Not to mention the crazy screams that pierced through the air whenever they come near him. It was utter madness and beyond sensibly sound mortal comprehension that a human being could bring about such chaos and pandemonium amidst a well organised society, but then, Japan is also known as the Land of the Crazy at times. The aforementioned example is perhaps, what we term as 'charismatic power', or simply put, 'power of the celebrity'. A rare gift that only the most fortunate amongst us would be blessed with; a resource of such scarcity that the one who wields it has all of the world's tangible wants strewn plentifully at their feet.

"Ugh bloody Ichigo! It ain't about insects! The casting team for the movie just emailed me a snippet of the script, and there's your parts in it. Go have a glance at it, okay? The audition's three days later for chrissake," the redhead, who is his friend as well as do-it-all agent, remarked. He had tried so hard, bugging the movie's production team day and night, in order to get Ichigo's name into the casting list for the role of Murakami Yoshihito, a character based on the bestselling historical romance novel set in the Meiji Restoration era. It was a critically acclaimed work of literature, one that had recently won the top prize at the Grand Prix and has been sought to be converted into a movie by the equally renowned director – Shinji Hirako.

"DIDN'T YOU SAY IT WAS FOR CONSIDERATION ONLY? WHY HAS IT TURNED INTO AN AUDITION NOW?" Ichigo yelled in irritation after his friend, who had gotten up to switch on his laptop.

"That's because they think you are slightly worthy of the part," the redhead, also known as Abarai Renji smirked knowingly at Ichigo, whose face had now turned red from excessive shouting. "And by the way, the character I signed you up for is one of the two leads in the movie."

Ichigo's face paled considerably at his response. "L..l..ead?" It wasn't any good at all. The only lead roles he had were the common role of the angsty, devastatingly handsome and horny vampire in the movie trilogy simply titled 'The Vampire'. It was even easy to act; he basically had to be himself and that was it. Unpredictably, the first movie alone had garnered him a mountain of die-hard fans, the deranged amongst them even had his face tattooed on their chests and even implored him to autograph on it. That thought alone had sent shudders all over Ichigo's spine and he didn't oblige, but chose to take a chaste little photograph with the rabid fangirl in case of incurring fan backlash. Fangirls aren't to be trifled with, as Renji had often reminded him. His excellent public relation skills, together with his adolescent rebel appearance, had cemented his status as one of Japan's youngest and most influential teenage figureheads. However successful he is now, it is not possible for him to continue doing teenagers' roles forever; he has to move on eventually, to more serious fanfare. Even someone as invincible as Kimura Takuya had taken on much more mature roles in contrast to the dreamy characters he often played on the silver screen.

What else could speak volumes about an actor honing his craft than a period tragedy?

"Eh, Renji. Can you at least give me a gist of what the plot is? The novel is effin thick! How do you expect me to finish in three days?" Ichigo finally spoke up, after spending two hours poring over the book in a semi-conscious state.

"Have you ever been this stupid since high school? I thought people grow cleverer as they age, but the reverse happens for you!" Renji smacked his forehead in annoyance. To the ignorant rest of the world, Ichigo is practically a God, but to him, he still is the amazingly ridiculous guy who wears a perpetual frown. And he would probably need a shot of Botox by the time he turns thirty.

"Well, you signed me up for this. Now get me out of this fix, or I'm gonna withdraw your fees. Bwa ha ha," Ichigo narrowed his dark eyes at his friend conspiratorially.

"Ooookay, you shit head. Here I go," Renji took a deep breath to prepare Ichigo for what was to come; something he would never have expected. 'Heh, stupid orange punk. Can't wait to see your reaction!'

"It's essentially a Romeo and Juliet tale of two men who stood at opposing ends during the Meiji Restoration, and what they do every time they see each other is to have wild monkey sex and finally, they die on each other. Romantic, isn't it?" Renji tried not to let peals of laughter escape his throat.

"Two men...wild...monkey...SEX?! SEX?!" Ichigo was literally choking himself to his premature death. "You...yo..you...how could you?! I don't wanna be in an adult porno flick, and a gay one at that!" He stuttered and proceeded to sob hysterically into the comfortable leather sofa he was sitting on.

"Hey, I was kidding about the sex thing. I mean there's one or two sex scenes in the book, but it's not always. And do you think a dirty book would win the Grand Prix?" Renji patted his friend on the back in consolation.

Ichigo removed his vice-like grip on the sofa and wiped away the tears that never were, before blinking owlishly at that redhead friend of his. "But I'd have to kiss the other guy, right? Do I have to get naked or something? UGHHHHHHH!"

"You're getting ahead of yourself! Chill~the script has yet to be finalised but I think they are aiming for a NC-16 rating, so...ay, anyway, even if you have to do it, it would be with a desirable guy! All you actors definitely have to have some looks and body, right? And besides, I already know who that guy is. He was the first member to be casted, and for the lead role too." Renji flipped through a magazine haphazardly and then tossed it onto Ichigo's lap.

"HIM? Oh god oh god oh god," Ichigo started to shiver all over despite himself. He had heard of this man, and the many rumours about how difficult he could be on set, and how demanding he was of his co-stars despite him being only 24. The most talented ones have always seemed to be divas on and off the set, but this one is just plain weird - refusing to turn up at celebration parties, keeping to himself on the set, giving reporters the silent treatment whenever he deemed it fit to do so. Sure, he had won accolades for his ingenious acting skills since starting out barely three years ago, but he is often reported to display a severe lack of emotional intelligence, with the most callous of them even claiming his Emotional Quotient to be negative. Not to mention his bizarre habit of drawing a symmetrical pair of teal green lines that runs from his bottom eyelids to his jawline whenever he isn't acting.

"Yeah, him," Renji sighed dreamily. "If only he was under me, I would be monstrously rich by now! Have you heard how high his price is currently? It rocketed through the roof after he won the Best Actor award last year for his magnificent turn as a psychopathic, schizophrenic detective in 'Another Paradise'! Have you seen it yet? It was mindblowingly, stupendously, cr-"

"You make me want to fire you sometimes," Ichigo stated blankly, his tedious grasp almost tearing the magazine into two.


	2. The Novel, The Audition and The Meeting

For the whole of the following three days, Kurosaki Ichigo obediently stayed at home and was all locked up in his room, reciting his paltry total of ten lines over and over in his head in preparation for the oncoming audition. It was no easy feat; the lines were long and demanding, the context was entirely beyond his grasp, the language was old and according to him, overly sappy for a manly samurai to spout. He didn't even have a clue as to who this Murakami Yoshihito guy was, other than being a man who fell in love with his supposed enemy and went on to do sexy times with him, as that turd of a Renji had incisively briefed him on earlier.

Thus, being the diligently conscientious young man he really is, Ichigo decided to switch on his golden Sony Vaio on that very night and visit Wikipedia for a concise summary of the entire story and of course, the character he was going to audition for. Although somewhere deep inside of him lay an innate desire to avoid getting such a role – it demanded intimate physical action with another man, which was a 'Hell no!' for the pious little teenagers' sweetheart he is, it would overall be beneficial for his career if he could pull this off.

To be honest, he was beginning to tire of the never ending attention lavished upon him for acting as a more angsty version of himself in the tween-ish 'The Vampire' movies for four consecutive years. He would be turning twenty-three in four months' time, and finding ruggedly handsome youngsters who reek of a potential James Dean in them in Japan is easy as eating sushi, so yes, the time to change was nigh.

"Hmm...Autumn Chrysalis...oh, here it is," Ichigo muttered to himself as he clicked on the links one by one. "Let's see...wow, these people at Wiki sure have mastered the art of summarizing and detailing at the same time..."

Autumn Chrysalis is a novel written in 2002-2004 by the famed Japanese author Unohana Retsu (Spring Cocoon, 1992 and Summer Crickets, 1997). The novel has been adapted into a movie screenplay (Autumn Chrysalis, 2009 - link unavailable) by the talented director Shinji Hirako (Nocturne, 2004 and Dawn of the Century, 2007), and is loosely based on the closing period of the Meiji Restoration era. The main story centers upon the forbidden romance between two men who stood on opposing ends of the Boshin War, 1868-1869. It was a civil war which involved the forces of the ruling Tokugawa shogunate, which included the Shinsengumi and those seeking to return power to the imperial court (mainly samurai clans in Satsuma and Choshu). Around 120,000 men were immobilized during the conflict and among which an estimated 3,500 were killed.

Murakami Yoshihito and Takamatsu Soujiro are the main protagonists in this tragic novel and shared an unbreakable bond that withstood their loyalties to the groups they each belonged to. Both men came to declare their love for each other, only to be separated by their duties the day after. They met again after the Battle of Koshu-Katsunuma and were more than delighted to see each other unscathed from the fighting. Emotions ran high at the unexpected encounter and resulted in another amorous night spent in each other's arms, where both men sought solace from the bleak reality they were thrown headfirst into and shared heartfelt thoughts on what was to become of them.

They left the next morning to fulfill their respective responsibilities and did not see each other again until several months later. The depleted Shinsengumi troops joined up with the former-Bakufu troops and the Yugekitai to make up an army that rebelled against the newly formed Meiji government. A final stand between the rebel army, better known as the military of Ezo Republic and the Imperial troops occurred around the fortress of Goryokaku, Hakodate. When Murakami witnessed Takamatsu being outnumbered and slain by his comrades, he led them into thinking that there was help required on the other side, thus freeing up time for him to drag the latter's corpse to the river. There, he carefully laid Takamatsu beside him as he stepped into the rapids, unsheathed his katana, only to have the blade slice sharply against his own throat. The novel drew to a close with a pair of bodies floating down the river, its waters tainted red with the blood of two estranged lovers.

"Oh ho, who would have thought. I think I'm starting to like this," Ichigo smirked a little at the screen before scrolling down the page in search of more bite-sized information regarding Murakami Yoshihito.

Murakami Yoshihito – An idealistic young man born into a samurai clan in the Satsuma province, who believed that Bushido (the way of the samurai) was not his only fate. Wild and unrestrained, he left home at the age of seventeen in carve out his own destiny but made a promise to return if they should need him one day. Having relinquished his right to a proper education when he chose to leave, he decided to seek a personal set of knowledge without relying on anyone else – which he found by working at a bookstore in Edo.

"Rebellious, eh?" Ichigo commented to himself before reading on.

It was there where he met Takamatsu Soujiro, a man who would go on to become the love of his life. Both didn't know each other's real identities then, but through a common love of acquiring knowledge via books and shared values, they went on to become good friends. That line was however, crossed one hazy autumn night when an innocent drinking session got out of hand. Both men were in denial of the incident and resumed their platonic relationship thereafter. Takamatsu soon found out that Murakami was in fact, a samurai and the clan he belonged to had joined up with those in the Satsuma, Choshu, Tosa and Hiroshima provinces to secure control of the imperial court and influence the young Emperor Meiji.

Murakami acknowledged the undisputed truth brought forth by Takamatsu and revealed that he had received an urgent letter from his clan after the naval Battle of Awa had ended in favor of the Shogunate. On the night before Murakami was to leave for his hometown, he admitted his own romantic feelings for the other man and they consummated their newly found relationship. When he saw Takamatsu being killed in what was to be the final battle of the Boshin War, he decided to join him in the afterlife and slit his throat. To him, not committing seppuku (a samurai's honorable suicide - by gutting oneself) to seek a voluntary death was his final rebellion towards Bushido.

"Takamatsu Soujiro...Murakami's lover...oh, here. So this is the character that Renji's idol is going to play," he took a light sip of water whilst tapping deftly on the mouse to open the link.

Takamatsu Soujiro – A young nobleman born in the Takamatsu domain, who under familial obligations, joined the Shinsengumi, a special police force of the late shogunate period. The group had permission to counteract revolutionaries who support the Emperor against the Tokugawa shogunate. Despite being so, Takamatsu privately held no interest in the stifling politics that were already wrecking Japan from within. His peaceful nature was what drew Murakami to him and him, to the other's free-spirited demeanor. The many hidden ambiguities between them culminated in a drunken night of unbridled passion, one that both strove to run away from in the aftermath.

He soon discovered that Murakami's clan-imposed stance opposed that of his and divulged his true identity – that of an elite swordsman (Shinsengumi) under the ruler-ship of Tokugawa Yoshinobu, the new Shogun. Murakami was undeterred by the inherent actuality on their mandatory stand in light of the political divide, and spurred by the vulnerability of two lives caught between an unwanted war, he went on to proclaim his love for Takamatsu, to which the latter reciprocated. Although Takamatsu made it through for the larger part of the war and the day where he and Murakami would reunite under a peaceful sky loomed increasingly near, it was not to be as he came to a bloody end at the hands of the Imperial army, during the battle at Goryokaku.

Ichigo never knew Japanese history to be so modifiable; it looked all the more epic when laden as a backdrop for a historical, albeit fictitious tragedy than the drab excuse named 'school text', which he had to deal with when he was a high-schooler. Reading up on the actual novel had made him more interested in the project than he initially was; it was unarguably better than Renji's pathetic X-rated slipshod synopsis.

He then yawned as he closed the windows one by one. Facing the highly radiative screen never failed to make his eyes dry and he decided it was time to dive into his cozy sheets. As the orange-haired man slept, he dreamed a strange dream. It was one where he and a man with teal colored tear tracks marked symmetrically on his face, raised their pearly wine cups in the air then emptied the contents over each other. They proceeded to swim in the puddles of wine that formed on the floor.

 

* * *

 

"Hi, I'm here to audition for Au-," Ichigo removed his shades as he inquired at the reception counter.

"OH MY GOD. ARE YOU KUROSAKI ICHIGO? I'M LIKE, A BIG FAN OF YOURS! OH MY GOD. YOU'RE AUDITIONING FOR THE WHAT? THIS IS, LIKE, TOTALLY, OH MY GOD!" The young lady at the counter had long forsaken any decent sense of composure. "COULD I LIKE, HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH OR SOMETHING? OH MY GO-"

"I'm kinda in a hurry here so, would you mind...Oh alright," he took a ballpoint pen and paper from the gushing lady, scribbled a barely legible signature on it and returned them to her. "Where's the casting room?"

"HOW ABOUT A PHOTO? OH MY GOD. I'M SO GONNA POST THIS ON TWITTER AND MYSPACE AND FACEBOOK AND MY BLOG! THE PRESIDENT OF THE STRAWBERRY FANCLUB IS GONNA BE SOOO JEALOUS!" The clueless one waved her hands about cartoonishly.

Ichigo's right eye twitched at two things – both the receptionist's failure to comprehend his question and the name of his very passionate fan club. Stalkers' club, as he would more than often bemoan grudgingly to Renji. "Excuse me, I'm really in a hurry here. Could you just direct me to the room?" He took a deep breath to calm his aggravated nerves, and smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

The receptionist was taken aback at the brash annoyance that seeped into his words and gaped like a goldfish, before putting on an air of utmost professionalism. "Right, Autumn Chrysalis' casting venue. It's at the Mayfair, level 3. The first room on the left when you step out of the elevator."

Ichigo repeated after her to ascertain the venue and thanked her adequately. Before he could turn away, the receptionist had already pulled out a camera from thin air and snapped a close-up of him. She then hyperventilated as she zoomed in on the digital image with hysterical zest.

 

* * *

 

The orange-haired man cast a series of wary glances at the people around him. He sure hadn't expected such a spectacular turnout – he was registered as #58 and there were more in line after him. It was an open-styled audition, one whereby each person had to act out his given part in front of not just the panel alone, but everyone else too. It was no doubt the most nerve wrecking of them all. He even spotted a few familiar faces, such as the guy who acted in NHK's recent taiga drama – Atsuhime, and some others whose names temporarily escaped him.

He already had his interpretation of the character down pat, and seeing the likes of others would tend to skew his perception. The last thing you would want during an audition is to be accused of plagiarizing another party's creative construction of the same character. Knowing he probably had the entire day ahead of him, Ichigo plugged into his iPod and re-read Autumn Chrysalis for the second time in three days.

 

* * *

 

"Number 58 – Kurosaki Ichigo. You're up next," a short man with a mousy face and a comparably mousy hairdo announced using a loudhailer.

Ichigo had been waiting patiently for almost seven hours and was close to finishing the thick novel when his name was called. It was his turn to prepare for the measly three minutes of a solo showcase and as he stood up, he felt all eyes settle upon him. Quite contrary to the stares he frequently received on the streets or when walking down the red carpet during gala premieres, the ones he was getting now were those of contempt and condescension. It was as though he had no right to be in the same room as them, seeing the stark differences in their statuses.

He, a mere idol with a critically panned but nonetheless popular movie trilogy to his name. They, hardworking actors who started at the bottom and gradually made their way up, rung after rung, gaining favorable expertise and bigger roles along the way. To them, Ichigo should scram back to where he belonged to – the fickle, maniacal world of screaming youngsters, their lack of appreciation for real talent and elevating good lookers who are dime a dozen into the heavens.

But Ichigo was Ichigo, and there was no way he would ever back down without a fight within and beyond his means. He held his head high as he navigated through the room to the small stage, badly wanting to show how wrong these narrow-minded people were.

Ichigo pondered about the existence of the 'Casting Couch' as he walked towards the stage. Sadly, it was nothing but a myth, one that was too often used in scandalously juicy gossips involving lecherous directors/producers and nubile starlets. He had never seen one in his career of four years and had asked about it too, apparently no one had seen it as well. He would love to see the much heralded couch for himself come one day.

 

* * *

 

Before the stage was a panel of judges and out of the four, Ichigo could only recognize two, of whom were the author, Unohana Retsu and the director, Shinji Hirako. He knew the former as her photograph was encased in the back cover of the novel, and the latter because he was that famous. Sitting between them were a stern-looking, petite lady with her short onyx hair styled in a pixie cut, and a man with an ostentatious clip adorning the front of his long black hair. Their tags on the table respectively read 'Soi Fon – Casting Director' and 'Kuchiki Byakuya – Executive Producer'. Both eyed Ichigo dispassionately as he bowed before them respectfully.

"Hello, Mister Hotshot!" The blonde director grinned zealously at Ichigo, revealing his upper row of teeth. "Having a little career change already, eh?"

"Hi all, I'm looking forward to be a part of this project an-"

"Enough of this bull already. Just show us what you've got," Soi Fon frowned pettishly as she cut Ichigo off. She took no nonsense from anyone, not even the most established of actors. Or the most popular of them.

"Oh come on, Soi Fon! Easy on the boy! He bites, you know?" Shinji Hirako laughed quietly to himself, his straight bob flopping around in tandem. Then, he leaned in conspiratorially towards Ichigo and whispered at a volume loud enough for the panel to hear. "I'm a closet fan of yours. All the best, vampy boy!"

With an exaggerated wink strewn in Ichigo's direction, it signaled the beginning of an enactment that depicted three days of intensive memory work and research, together with his personal take on the portrayal of a certain Murakami Yoshihito.

 

* * *

 

It was now eight at night and the drearily long audition had finally dragged to a fitful end. They had seen more than eighty candidates vying for the same role and only a handful of them looked to have what it took to inject life into a written person.

"What do you think, Unohana-sensei?" Kuchiki Byakuya asked politely although he already had a shortlist of actors done mentally.

"I quite like Takahashi, he has fair experience in period epics and I do think he would do good as Murakami. And there's Ushiro, that's his name I believe? Him having a background in kendo would be useful. Yamato's reading was very impressive too," Unohana Retsu observed. "But there's this one. I thought he stood out completely from the rest and the feelings he evoked in me were special."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Unohana-sensei?" Shinji Hirako bared a set of bleached teeth at her.

"I have to admit, that teenybopper surprised me. I mean, that vampire trilogy sucked shit!" Soi Fon chimed in crudely.

"Alright then. I believe we've all come to an appropriate conclusion?" Byakuya looked at the three faces authoritatively. All three nodded in unison and spent the rest of the night selecting a small list of actors for the next and final round.

 

* * *

 

"Welcome back, you undead vampy boy~" The famous director hummed leisurely as he waved at the orange head.

Ichigo's vein popped at the director's constant reference to his role in the movies that propelled him to instant mega stardom, and he was no longer a frickin' boy. "Thanks for your consideration. It's a great hono-" he began like a well-oiled media machine.

"Shut up, boy. Recite these lines as if you were Murakami. You have ten minutes to prepare and it starts now," Soi Fon irritably tossed a piece of paper at Ichigo.

"Whoa, PMS?" Shinji pretended that the paper was headed for his head and dodged, only to earn himself a withering glare courtesy of the hard as nails casting director.

"I'm ready," Ichigo looked up from the paper after eight minutes. "Shall we?"

"Hey boy, I gave you ten minutes and you said you're done in eight? Don't get too cocky with me," Soi Fon narrowed her eyes threateningly at Ichigo, who deemed himself brave enough to not quiver in his seat.

"It's more than enough," Ichigo replied simply, receiving a withheld snigger from Shinji and a look of benevolence from the author herself.

"Please," Byakuya raised his eyes to Ichigo's level and motioned for him to commence his second audition.

Ichigo took a step forward and with all the emotions and dexterity he could muster, he put on a display that stretched his limits as an actor who was classically untrained. It was a raw performance yes, and not as polished as those before and after him. But it was definitely one he thought he could be proud of even if he wasn't picked at the end of the day.

What he hadn't known was that the panel shared his sentiments, too.

 

* * *

 

"Whatthehelldoyouwantwithme?" Ichigo slurred sleepily as he picked up the phone.

"HEY DUMB BELL! GUESS WHAT?!" The over-excited voice of an enthusiastic redhead boomed through the earpiece. "YOU GOT IT. YOU GOT IT YOU GOT IT YOU GOT THE PART!"

"Hmm...it...got...GOT? GOT IT?! THE PART?" All wants of sleep slipped off his mind like water passing through a sieve as said recipient of the unwanted morning call bolted upright in his bed.

"YES! YOU TOTALLY NAILED IT! TOTALLY! ALL FOUR OF THEM CHOSE YOU! ALL FOUR! THIS IS BETTER THAN WINNING JAPAN IDOL OR WHATEVER THEY'RE SHOWING ON TV NOW! Oh wait, you're already an idol. Anyway," Renji cleared his throat after an incessant bout of shouting. "The production schedule is running tight and you're the last member to be cast, so be prepared."

"Shut it, Renji. I'm up for anything in the world right now. Absolutely anything," Ichigo replied in exulted confidence, his brown eyes mirroring his ebullient spirit.

 

* * *

 

"How convenient of you to be late for the first meeting!" Renji checked his brown-strapped watch impatiently before hollering at Ichigo after the latter had stormed into the private room, huffing and puffing like the fabled big bad wolf.

"T..tra..ffic..bad...huff...hufff..." Ichigo panted himself silly as he bent forward to take in larger gulps of oxygen, and placed both hands on his knees for support.

"My ass. You probably woke up late and spent an hour kicking Daddy into a pulp, you massive ingrate! They're all in that room, big-shots and all. All the best, pal. If you die, I hope I still get my commission," the redhead snickered evilly and proceeded to shove Ichigo into the room with a massive bout of force that came from the morning's insatiably filling breakfast.

"OY—Uh, hi. Morning. So folks, how's it going?" Ichigo could only manage a weak laugh and waved a feeble hand as a form of greeting. A meeting was in the midst when he had barged in like a nobody, therefore nobody bothered to respond. He soon found himself scanning about the room for an empty seat, or even an empty corner so he could disappear into the inconspicuousness of it. There was one, which was beside a man dressed entirely in black and sporting a white cap pulled low over his face. That man's head remained tilted all the while, hence Ichigo couldn't discern who he was, but that wasn't really important.

Stealthily, he made his way towards that area and promptly plunked himself down onto the huge, cushy seat in great relief. He then noticed the man beside him was silently flipping through a magazine hidden below the opaque marble table, not even bothering to give two hoots about the meeting that was taking place.

'Wow, this guy's got some nerve. Heh, a meeting of old fogeys yakking about movie financing is hardly our business. And I'm hungry...oops!' Ichigo nearly wanted to die of humiliation as a roaring clap of thunder escaped his belly and into the ears of everyone in the room.

"Aha, that's Kurosaki Ichigo for you! Everyone's favourite teen idol, eh?" A man with impeccably wispy silver hair smiled at the offender, who in turn could only nod meekly in acknowledgment while trying to psyche himself into thinking he had just eaten a cow.

"Have you met your co-star yet, Ichigo? Ha~coincidence of all grand coincidences, you are sitting right next to him!" The still smiling man said his words as though he was singing a folksy ditty, his eyes never once cracking open. "Ulquiorra Schiffer!"

The man in a white cap began to shift uncomfortably in his seat when his name was mentioned, immersed in guilty thought that he had been caught reading a magazine when he was actually supposed to pay attention.

"Yo, Ichigo here. Nice to meet you and I hope we'll have a great time working together!" The ever media friendly man whose name sounded like a fruit, beamed like a beacon across raging seas and extended a hand towards his new co-star. Intimate scenes are always a chore, and having rapport with each other would aid in the successful completion of such heinous tasks.

He who was named Ulquiorra Schiffer, straightened himself and coolly ignored the hand that was proffered to him. "We shall see about that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The historical events stated above (for the imaginary novel that is Autumn Chrysalis) are nothing but the complete truth. All thanks to Wikipedia and its tireless group of anonymous contributors. All other details are a product of my over-active imagination back in mid-2009 :)


	3. Hello, My Co-star (From Hell)

"ICHIGOOOOOOOOOOO! MY DEAR SON! HOW WAS YOUR DAY?" Kurosaki Isshin made a free lunge for the orange-haired man the moment he stepped into the house. The latter knew his father only too well and side-stepped him, before completing a well-aimed kick and punch to his face and torso.

"Oh no, that's bad, son. You're gonna make Daddy end up in the hospital with an IV drip strapped to the nose and arm one day! Bad, bad son of mine. Hence I shan't talk about you, but your co-star! I simply love his movies! The intricate ways he used to express the innermost feelings of his characters! Those intense green eyes! Be more like him, son! Don't just act cool, but BE COOL. Have you seen the one where he won th-"

Ichigo thought his exasperatingly pathetic excuse of a father was starting to resemble Renji – they were all gushing fans of that frigid man named Ulquiorra Schiffer. He couldn't comprehend why so, but decided his fanatical followers all shared a common trait – insanity coupled with extreme stupidity.

"SO HOW'S THE AMAZING SCHIFFER HIMSELF?" Isshin's face loomed beside Ichigo's suddenly, his black orbs filled with dazzlingly blinding stars. "I bet he's all warm and cuddly!"

"As does a packet of ice cubes," Ichigo miffed and stormed upstairs to his room, deciding to conserve his energy for conducting some research relevant to the filming, instead of the usual serving of smashing his father's sorry mug to smithereens.

 

* * *

 

"Ulquiorra...Schiffer..." Ichigo typed into the search box on Yahoo! Japan. He knew quite a fair bit about the background of the movie now, and that of his new co-star was what he had not. Articles coming off the back pages and gossip columns of tabloid weeklies did not quite count; they did add some pizzazz into his supposed personality, but Ichigo always thought that one should see things for themselves and not be subjected to personal bias. If he had to dislike Ulquiorra, he would need to have his individual set of reasons as justification.

Long lists of results appeared and Ichigo clicked on his official website first. A window greeted him and he thought the wholly black and white layout, coupled with a short flash montage of the green-eyed man's press release pictures, appeared befitting of his first impression of the man in question: coldly direct, unyielding, even snobbish to an extent. Later, he combed through a selection of sites dedicated to the stoic actor himself, with most of them declaring to have an 'inhumanely hot and awesome' Ulquiorra Schiffer marry them, and came to a sound conclusion of his own.

First, he had to be batshit crazy. He was enrolled in Waseda University, one of Japan's fore running varsities, and had completed the foundation year in the medical faculty with stellar grades when he dropped out abruptly, citing personal reasons. Then he registered for an averagely ranked university near his home and took up Psychology, graduating with first class honors. Whatever happened thereafter was public knowledge altogether.

Although Ichigo was hardly the most intelligent or dumbest person around, he could not comprehend the green-eyed man's 'alternative' ways in the slightest manner. He concluded Ulquiorra was either a crazy genius with insane foresight or a lunatic on the loose for possibly pocketing drugs in the university's affiliated hospital and selling them for a quick dime on the black market for twelve consecutive months. Henceforth, when he decided he had made enough and had enough of this high life, he left, the personal reasons being 'too rich to give a damn' about sick people.

Second, he was plain eccentric, bordering on blunt arrogance, and probably just about offended every single soul, even the bit part actors, on the film sets. When asked of his sentiments regarding his co-stars, even the rudest of people would forge something nice to say, statements construed by their managers or public relation representatives, but not him. Ulquiorra Schiffer would simply glare sharply at the reporters and stride away casually with both hands tucked in pockets. What bemused Ichigo was that Ulquiorra's manager seemed to do naught about it. Maybe they were both too cool to concern themselves with the public perception of the green-eyed man's image.

On days when he was caught in a friendlier mood, he would give memorable and infamous oft-quoted phrases such as, "I can't talk about what I can't see.", "Is that so?", "I didn't see that.", "Why bother?", "Nothing begets nothing.", with "Everyone thinks they have the most beautiful wife at home." being his longest verbal statement to date. Even his address at the last Japan Film Festival was nothing short of unforgettable. It was probably the snidest thank you speech ever given in Japanese history and lasted a grand total of twelve seconds: three seconds silence and another three the brief scanning of those in contention for the Best Actor award, each putting on faux smiles for the cameras panning in on them. Then, six seconds with audio waves meshing together to form "You can't say you're happy when you don't win.".

Ichigo found some of the comments incredibly familiar, then realized that these were the very much parodied lines used by hosts and comedians alike in prime time variety shows. What were mere words pieced together to throw reporters off guard so he could get away from their greedy paws and soundbites hungry voice recorders, had unintentionally placed the socially impaired man in the hot seat, be it negative or positive and polarizing the majority of Japan's entertainment loving crowd.

All of a sudden, he was being hailed by the Japanese media as being 'unpretentious and proud of it' in this world where danger lurked behind pretentious smiles and meaningless air smooches and purposeful wardrobe malfunctions. He was a 'glowing beam of originality' in this society populated by homogenous factory churned products such as Johnny's talents and Morning Musume, with the most exalting of them postulating he be the twenty-first century poster boy who dripped with the essence of it: materialism, realism, skepticism, cynicism and all the -isms that staked a place in any decent modern English dictionary.

For all the otherworldly compliments lavished on him, Ulquiorra Schiffer was equally condemned for his 'incomparably conceited and snooty' attitude, and his 'emo poser' look in various social sites and tabloid articles, with most slamming his deplorable existence and cursing him to lose all his teeth then hair and whatnot. During a rare outing at a stipulated talk show where the topic of his very vocal haters surfaced, he answered in his usual unflappable stance: "I'm not their best friend."

That skimpy tally of five words was all it took to thoroughly instil the belief in Ichigo that Ulquiorra Schiffer was going to be one strenuous hell of a co-star.

 

* * *

  

Kurosaki Ichigo looked warily about him when he entered the hustle-bustle of a dressing room one week later, located in a distinct corner of the filming location, which was by itself a behemoth building that sprawled across several hectares of suburban land. Renji was nowhere in sight and did not pick up his phone when he called, and he felt like a lost sheep, not knowing whether to sit or to stand or what to do. Having gotten tired of waiting, he made a snappy decision to give his redhead agent a piece of his pissed off mind later, then swung by a dressing table and sat on it, his sneakered feet placed in a lazy criss-cross fashion on the adjacent chair.

"Get your feet off my chair," an emotionally void voice rang out when he was about to shut his eyes for some rest.

Immediately, Ichigo's eyes flew open and he jerked his head upwards to find a raven-haired man with a pair of teal lines running down his sickly pale face glare at him. The man looked as irritated as a cat without its ball of yarn and excited as a panther when it sees vegetables.

"Your chair?" Ichigo asked courteously. If the pale man would answer politely, then maybe Ichigo would discard the previous presumptions he had of the man, and they could forge a conducive working relationship.

"I sat here moments before," he continued in his bland tone. "Move."

The orange-haired man removed his feet from the seat and crossed his legs, never moving from his position. "There, your chair."

Ulquiorra peered at the seat – made dirty by a dusty pair of shoe prints, then back at Ichigo. "Clean it," he said commandingly. "And remove your arse from the dresser in the meanwhile." He did not wait for Ichigo's response, but treated it as a given and tossed a packet of tissue onto the orange-haired man's lap, then stuffed both hands back into his pockets, leaving the latter confounded and irked at the stale reception.

Though Ichigo was peeved as anything, he held true to his word to uphold his persona as everyone's favorite young star, one forced into adoption by his talent agency when he first tasted fame. He placed both hands on the table to push himself off, then took a piece of tissue from the packet gingerly, performed a slapdash swipe around the chair and crumpled the contaminated three ply softness into a ball. Everything was done with a deformed smile plastered on his face.

"Happy now, _Ulquiorra Schiffer_?" Deep down, Ichigo was never the friendliest person around and this time, he could not resist the chance to give Ulquiorra a taste of his true colors and added a snark twist to his name.

The green-eyed man did not reply, but made his way towards a dressing table at the other end of the room and stayed there.

"What a complete asshole," Ichigo muttered under his breath when the bizarre man with bizarrely bizarre habits moved out of earshot.

 

* * *

 

"HEY WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" Renji cried in surprise when he bumped into someone while turning a corner by the long corridor with yellow painted walls adorned with huge posters of movies, all of which were produced by the well-known Japanese film company - Soul Pictures. As he rubbed his forehead to ease the shots of pain arising from the abrupt human contact, he caught sight of a taut, muscular silhouette parading before him. He supposed they were both of the same height and build, but the crash had Renji keeling over in pain and allowed the silhouette to tower over him easily. It also seemed to snarl down at him unpleasantly.

"WATCH YA FUCKIN' DUMB FEET AN' LOOK BEFORE YA MAKE A TURN. AND WHOA! THAT HAIR!" the man yelled back, his annoyance at being knocked into was fueled by Renji's loud voice and being temporarily blinded by a cascade of long crimson locks.

The red-haired man was prepared to launch another boisterous attack when the comment on his hair took him by surprise, and a potential wolfish growl shrank into a downward curve at the man, who was stuck with a jester's name - Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, and owned a striking pseudo Mohawk of electric blue hair. "Speak for yourself, friggin' gangster."

"Hn," Grimmjow scoffed and fluffed his hair haughtily. "Nice tats by the way, bruh," he added, running his light blue orbs over Renji's intricate patterning of tribal tattoos and nodded in approval.

"Yeah, kinda different aren't they," Renji patted the tattoos inked on his forehead satisfyingly, a lioness proud of its cubs for bringing home their first kill. "Nice shirt, too," he complimented in return when he saw the motif on Grimmjow's form fitting tee. It was a provocative graphic; a topless Kate Moss, with one bony arm covering her bare breasts and the other flipping a bird at whoever's looking at 'her'.

 _'Edgy,'_ he thought. To further bring out the 'E' in edginess, she contorted her facial features into that of a drugged out temptress and stuck her pinkish tongue out.

' _No, make that VERY edgy,'_ was the sole thought about Grimmjow's top that Renji was left with when the blue-haired man sauntered off in the other direction and hummed a horrendous rendition of Linkin Park's 'New Divide'.

 

* * *

 

"Hello all," the smiley silver-haired man poked his head into the dressing room and waved comically, before entering the now crowded room of actors, stylists, make-up artists, prosthetic limbs, wigs and costumes. "Am glad to see all of you so geared up early this morning!"

"Gin, quit with the trash talking. Just tell them what they have to do this week," Soi Fon piped in without invitation. Ichigo turned in her direction briefly, and saw the all too familiar frustrated expression laid on her face. _'She needs to take a chill pill from Renji,'_ he mused, and the thought of Renji, who was still nowhere to be seen, handing the irksome Casting Director a pill made the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Aww, Little Bee, don't be angry with me. I'm just here to make everyone's lives more comfortable, including yours," Ichimaru Gin mysteriously took on a Westerner's country accent as he answered.

Ulquiorra put on his usual nonchalant face, bored stiff with the incessant waiting, and kept to himself while everyone else was making friendly banter as they bumbled about the place. To add onto his misery, that amoeba of his blue-haired, thuggish manager, who also happened to be a first relative, hung up on him once he saw his famous actor cousin's number on the Caller ID. As the green-eyed man folded his arms, he wished halfheartedly he had brought along something to read, a tabloid weekly even, but he had woken up hastily this morning, thinking he was late when he saw the hour hand on his alarm clock stop at eight. Later did he realize the clock had ran out of batteries since eight last night.

"Alrighty~folksies, here's our production schedule for this week! I'm looking forward to it myself even," Gin grinned foxily and the spots where his eyes should be creased into tiny rainbows. "First off, we'll be doing costume fitting and primary photoshoots for the first five days, a rest day on the sixth, then on the seventh day of the week, we'll be holding a press conference to announce the confirmed cast to the media!"

"Without much further ado, let's welcome our Head Costume Designer, Ishida Uryuu!" Gin stepped aside to allow for the limelight to fall on a bespectacled man who was all clad in white, and went on to fix everyone in the room with an unnecessarily supercilious gaze. Gin then continued in his doubtful accent. "For today, everyone is to try on their costumes and see if they fit, since the sizes were taken days ago and some of us here are practically balloons. Good luck to Ulquiorra and Ichigo~ you two have the most work to do."

"What do you mean?" Ichigo asked. He almost raised a hand, but was reminded by his inner voice in the nick of time that he was no longer in high school, much less a classroom. "Do we have that many costumes?"

"YEP!" Gin answered happily, and Ulquiorra thought he saw a furry tail sprout from the silver-haired man's backside and swished about in the air for a fleeting moment. He blinked a few times in rapid succession to clear his head, and nearly fell off his chair when Gin added in sadistic glee, "You have twelve, Ulquiorra has FIFTEEN! Don't fatten up once filming starts, oookay?"

 

* * *

 

Three hectic days of costume fitting had dashed past without much fanfare, and Ichigo found himself liking his nine sets of civilian clothes so much that he almost wanted to persuade Ishida into imparting his impressive sewing skills to his younger sister Yuzu. They were influenced by the Meiji Restoration period, all of which were colored in dark shades and contrasted with a similar lighter tone for the inner linings. Ishida had told him that the colors complemented Ichigo's lightly tanned skin tone and would make his bright hair pop out even more.

Ichigo was not sure what Ishida meant by that, and his pesky habit of pushing up his frameless pair of spectacles with a finger as he spoke painted a scheming picture of him designing the clothes with a sole consideration in mind – Ichigo's orange hair. It was not the best of thoughts and although the end result was highly satisfiable, Ichigo felt an unnoticeable quiver travel down his spine.

The remaining three pieces were military kits and as 'delightful' (claimed by Gin) Ishida's designs for them were, Ichigo found the 'classically aesthetic styles' (another claim made by the smiling loon) woeful. Each had a heavy plate of armor as the outer layer, then a pair of outerwear which mixed cornflower blue and black and ash gray together, one that was reminiscent of a hounds tooth pattern. The inner clothing pieces were as white as fresh snow, but Ishida insisted they were an 'off-white', and when Ichigo protested that they were not and Ishida was being overly sensitive, the latter proclaimed the orange-haired man in dire need of an optometrist.

Ichigo then wondered if anyone watching the movie would even give a shit about the pieces in their separability, of which Ishida had declared them to be 'excellent works that mirror the craftsmanship of a fine outfit befitting of an honorable Japanese samurai', and especially when involved in bloody, dirty, grubby battle scenes.

As Ishida lost himself in his clouds of needles and threads and abstract designs, his waxen hands stroked the edges of the clothes as if it was the bottom of a newborn. Ichigo thought it to be a mightily gay action but decided against pointing that out. He did not wish to further incur the bespectacled man's wrath and have him sneakily add bits of heat retention fabrics into the kits and then die of heat stroke while filming.

Ichigo also tried to make small talk with his stoic co-star whenever possible, wanting to give the latter a chance to redeem himself for his mistreatment days ago, but each time he was either blatantly ignored, or shot back with a dismissive remark. That said, he was not one to give up easily; he never was. Though his nonexistent patience was wearing thinner by the hour, he futilely pushed on to foster communication with Ulquiorra, who simply could not be bothered. Despite his well meaning attempts, he had unwittingly driven the green-eyed man into a state of irritation, hence the increasingly snippy snaps thrown towards the very persistent orange-haired one.

Ulquiorra never desired the need to befriend anyone, let alone with people whom he knew only as 'his colleagues' and nothing more. He supposed on the psychometric scale of 'Extroversion', he would thrive right on the opposite end: The Most Introvert Of Introverts, and remained stagnant till kingdom came. The usual crop of co-stars had seen his permanently, deceptively depressed facial expression, heard of his offbeat temperament and never spoke to him unless absolutely necessary, each of them warped in their own thoughts about the entertainment circle: that everyone should make nice to everyone else and probably end up in bed if possible. Hence, it was unsurprising that he was never involved in sex scandals, but speculation regarding his sexuality never died down. One minute he was reckoned as a closeted homosexual, seeing he had zero interest in his female co-stars, the next he was deemed an asexual, because he was reported to display not even the littlest of lusty affections towards anyone at all.

Ulquiorra neither minded the senseless allegations nor lack of interaction. He personally believed that an actor should spend his free time on the set practising and improving upon his performances to achieve refinery of his craft, and not partake in time-wasting tactics, or so he deemed when he observed the many flirtatious glances shared amongst others on the set. He never once thought it to be his fault that he was criticized badly and that his words propelled his reputation skyward and hell bound never failed to make him smile skittishly at his pet, a ginger cat, as he stroked its soft orange-brown fur and tickled its white underbelly while belatedly recounting matters blown out of proportion.

When the news of a certain orange-haired film actor (there was no way he would see him as a proper movie star) being his latest co-star reached him, he almost wished he had not signed up for the movie. He had problems dealing with veteran actors as he learned the hard way that their credentials more than often not match up appropriately with their real talents, what more one who was a literal greenhorn? He also puzzled over the foursome's choice in selecting Ichigo despite having actors with more promising reputes to their names, and suspected they aimed to create feverish hype for Japan's first ever mainstream movie to feature a pair of gay lovers.

It had been almost ten days since they first met, and already Ulquiorra found Ichigo a nuisance. He was a terrible actor to begin with, as do all wannabes of his make. He was tardy – being late for the first meeting could never leave a good impression on anyone. He frowned too much for a twenty something year old, and although Ulquiorra hardly looked at people other than when the cameras were rolling, it secretly put him off to no end.

Ichigo also talked too much, especially to him, and when Ulquiorra tried to dismiss the orange-haired man with an insult so he could be in peace, the latter would either blissfully ramble on at a spectacular acceleration of volume, or endeavor to be sarcastic in return. Ulquiorra thought Ichigo woke up late the day genes of sarcasm were handed out. Last but not least, Ichigo had the most striking hair color ever. Well, almost. It was comparable to that of his blue-haired cousin's, which made Ichigo even more tiresome in his eyes.

"Costume fitting times are such a drag, ain't they?" Ichimaru Gin waved his hands like a mime actor pushing his gloved hands against an imaginary piece of glass. "But good times come after bad times! We'll be doing a primary photoshoot for our two hotties today~ First up, Ichigo! Then, Ulquiorra! And then, both! With a few poses, too."

"Let us put our hands together and give a warm welcome to the Director of Photography, shall we?" He continued, this time adopting an Osaka dialect to his speech. "Aikawa Love~!"

A tall man with thick black hair worn in an Afro that was shaped like a starfish and adorned a pair of slanted opaque shades, planted himself beside Gin. He wore a multi-colored Adidas jacket and zipped it all the way to the collar, and had on a pair of matching track pants and sneakers. Ichigo figured if he squinted hard enough, he could probably spy an eighties boom box sitting atop the man's shoulder. He then squeezed his brown eyes into narrow lines and inclined towards Ulquiorra, who happened to stand next to him. Helpfulness did not run in the green-eyed man's veins and he moved away from the still inclining man, who was continuing to bend sideways to the point of disequilibrium. Ichigo fumbled about for a while before regaining his balance, and glared poisonously at Ulquiorra, who simply stood by and watched the scene unfold before him with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets.

"Why did you move away? I almost fell!" Ichigo hissed irately. "Can't you help at least?"

"You invaded my personal space," came Ulquiorra's charming reply.

"Wh-" Ichigo began.

"'Sup, dudez?" Aikawa Love asked, and struck a 'Yo momma, check diz out!' pose to complete his ghetto style.

"Don't sing when you don't have the voice for it!" Soi Fon again popped out from nowhere and whacked Aikawa Love's head with a hefty stack of rolled up papers. His spiky Afro was flattened in the process and what was a starfish now looked like a cult symbol: a curved moon with three triangular edges.

"Ugh, pizz off, biyatch! Lemme do mah stuffz, ya juz stay away!" Love grunted unhappily, and his big hands shot up to desperately mold his hair back into its original shape. "Ya diggin' me?"

"I, for one, don't dig you," Gin said, and laughed a fake, huge guffaw, "That's quite an introduction, Love. So, shall we get ready for the shoot?"

Everyone in the room nodded, save for Ulquiorra, who hardly moved a muscle. They then ushered both Ichigo and him into separate rooms, and busied themselves with piling make-up on the two leading actors' faces, then fixed their wigs on their heads, and finally the putting on of civilian costumes. It took approximately three hours for them to prepare adequately for the shoot, and when they reached the set, with overhead lights aplenty and a huge white canvas backdrop, Ulquiorra was shouted at by Soi Fon when she saw him remove a hand from the pockets of his forest green pants to flick something off his shoulder.

"ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER!" She hollered. "DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO REMOVE YOUR BLACK NAIL POLISH BEFORE THE SHOOT?"

 

* * *

 

" _Atroce!_  Act mor' like looooovers! Closerrrr!" Love griped from behind the camera. The first few pictures were excellent – solo shots of Ichigo as Murakami Yoshihito and Ulquiorra as Takamatsu Soujiro, and both men had no trouble owning the photoshoot and adding their signature distinction to it. This was not the case when it finally came down to the wire, where they had to share many frames together. Ulquiorra seemed to root himself to the spot during the readying of positions, refusing to move nearer to Ichigo when asked to, and the suave orange-haired man lost control of his limbs, posing at awkward angles to accommodate Ulquiorra's weird bout of obstinacy, occasionally bumping into the stationary green-eyed man, and wound up stepping on his toes more than once.

"ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER! WHEN LOVE TELLS YOU TO MOVE, YOU MOVE!" Soi Fon grabbed hold of a loudhailer and put it to good use.

"Schiffer boi, puh-leese move! Me tinkz Ichi boi doesn't stink oneeee bit, does he?" Love questioned.

"He does. It's affecting me," Ulquiorra's brilliant green eyes flashed dangerously when Ichigo accidentally jutted a knee into his shin. "He stinks of no talent."

"HEY! You're the one who's refusing to co-operate and how dare you push the blame onto me! AND YOU'RE CALLING ME A NO-TALENT?" Ichigo shouted back, and decided he had enough of being all nice and gentlemanly to his co-star. Since patience was never his virtue and it had long been overstretched, thus it had to snap at one point. _'Which also makes it NOW!'_

"I knew you're a fake all along," Ulquiorra said smugly. "Your hair color indicates you're a hothead underneath it all."

"WHAT HAS MY HAIR COLOR GOT TO DO WITH THIS?" Ichigo yelled into his co-star's ear. "I WAS BORN WITH IT! IT'S BETTER THAN YOUR DULL BLACK HAIR ANYWAY!"

"Everything," Ulquiorra retorted, covering his ears with both hands. "Plus, you can't act. Makes me wonder what did you do to obtain this role."

"I WAS CHOSEN OUT OF GOD KNOWS HOW MANY PEOPLE! CHOSEN! DURING TWO ROUNDS OF AUDITIONS!" Ichigo panted after his short but deafening tirade. "AND IF YOU THINK I'M EASY TO BULLY, LIKE YOUR LOSERISH CO-STARS BEFORE ME, THEN YOU'RE DEAD WRONG!"

"Woh, relax, guys! We only wanted to have you two move closer to take a better picture, not an all out fight!" Gin cooed, hoping to pacify the two stars. "Don't argue anymore, and you're supposed to be tragic lovers, not warring fighters. Well, although they can easily transcend from one to the other..."

Both looked set to debate Gin's words, but they never did, for Soi Fon appeared behind them in a flash and forcibly placed Ulquiorra's arm around Ichigo's waist, then pushed them together, their shoulders touching.

"Don't you two dare move until Love shouts 'DONE!'. UNDERSTAND?" Soi Fon admonished, and stared at them so fiercely that her eyeballs were going to drop out of their sockets and bounce onto the floor anytime. "Try me, and I'll make the both of you go through hell _together_ and never make it back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ulquiorra is meaner than usual in here ;)


	4. Words, They Come Fast And Furious

If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a fish, he would be a sardine fish, Ichigo thought angrily, because then and only then, could he be eaten whole and its existence wholly forgotten.

If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a snack, he would be a rice mochi, Ichigo grumbled under his breath, because then and only then, could he be punched like a potato sack and then sink in, crumble and be chewed slowly into oblivion, while Ichigo himself would emerge unscathed.

If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a fruit, he would be a... _a what?_ Ichigo growled inwardly as he threw a sushi roll into his bowl of miso soup, and it hit the bottom with a loud 'plonk' sound. Oh! A...durian! Because then and only then, could he be thrown into the dumpster legitimately. The spiky thorns are a more than apt description for his unwelcoming character, and the obscenely stinky fruit is green too.

If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a drink, he would be a full cream milkshake with rainbow candies at the side, Ichigo glowered at the tattooed red head across him, then at the tall glass on the table. Because, he hated those things. _'And all the calories will kill you one day.'_

If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a vegetable, he would be a stick of bitter gourd, Ichigo grimaced as he chewed on the soggy sushi roll. Because, the man's words left such a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and he wondered if his bile would somersault and die an unwarranted death inside when they...

"How do you expect me to do _THOSE SCENES_ with such a person!" the orange haired man stopped eating altogether and slammed his chopsticks down on the table. He was getting increasingly perturbed by the supposedly intimate scenes he had to share with the green eyed man, and that his behaviour had been so vile, was hardly helping the matter at all.

"Hey, don't take it out on the table. Poor thing," Renji slurped loudly from his glass. "And, newsworthy point of note here."

"Note what? I don't even want to get anywhere near him now. That weirdo claimed I stink! You hear me? _I stink?_ " Ichigo complained loudly, feeling beyond insulted that he suffered a heavy dosage of personal attacks. "He even used my hair color against me! What the hell is he really? And who is he to do that? He's worse than a prima donna! He paints his nails black like some angsty thirteen year old girl! Acts like he's poisoned with that nutty black upper lip! Who the hell paints their upper lip only? Is he too poor or what? I bet he's a druggie, no wait, more like a broke ass drug lord. He even lives in the rat hole of a neighborhood for all you know! Runs a secret syndicate! And! Don't you dare even look away, Renji! I'm not quite done yet. He doesn't listen to anyone except his myriad of inner voices, and they must be bat-like creatures with little devilish horns and tail! They fly around his head too, like a halo of stupid stars."

"Eh Ichi, I'm not an imbecile, right?" Renji asked rhetorically, to which Ichigo shook his head. "So I do have brains, then that makes me wonder why. Why do you keep ranting on and on about him? And you've been doing so since ten in the morning! It's two in the afternoon now, for your information. More interestingly so, why do you keep thinking about _those scenes_ with him? Are you secretly a..." Renji trailed off with an evil glint in his eye.

Eyes glassy, Ichigo sat up straight in his chair and planted a porcelain spoon into the salad bowl, making it connect with the base. A deafening 'CLANG!' rang throughout the restaurant, making babies cry and waiters drop their silver trays. "What are you insinuating, you brainless baboon? I'm not queer or gay or homo or a poof or anything!"

"You're getting way too defensive, Poppy Head! I was about to say something else, but wow, what a confession I got out of you!" Renji grinned none too kindly. "Better not let your fans know you swing that way, or else the agency's efforts in making you every teenage girl's heartthrob will go to waste!"

Ichigo snorted snidely at his friend. "As if. Inoue is not there for show, isn't she? I'm straight as a rod by the way."

"Closeted," Renji finished for him. "Don't you know rods curve when heat is applied on the inside? Sucks to know I actually remember more useless school rubbish than you."

"Whatever," Ichigo barked, and he stood up, pushed his chair back and the legs screeched like a siren against the marble floor. "You piss me off, so you're paying." Then he left, leaving one red head drowning in a sea of ire and wrath.

 

* * *

 

The hallway leading to the ballroom in Tokyo Gotei Hotel was adorned lavishly with high-resolution promotional graphics of 'Autumn Chrysalis – The Movie', and Aikawa Love had personally picked one particular shot he deemed to encapsulate what the movie promised to offer. Love thought it ironic that the complete opposite was what actually went on behind the scenes.

It was of Ulquiorra and Ichigo standing with their backs facing each other, each dressed in their own uniforms. Ulquiorra – the black Shinsengumi robes, Ichigo – the exquisite mix of patterns in his samurai clan's overalls. Both wrapped a hand around the hilts of their respective katanas, actions and poses mirroring that of the other's, the only difference being Ulquiorra's head turning at an angle, his green orbs darting backwards, seemingly peering at Ichigo, who in turn was looking ahead with a determined expression as does a loyal warrior.

The movie executives nodded when Love dropped his 'ghetto' speech mannerisms and resumed a normal, audible tone in his explanation, and said they shared his thoughts too. Even those who did not had to, for it is an unquestionable fact that the majority wins.

 

* * *

 

The press conference opened with an address by Soi Fon regarding the nitty gritty of casting appropriate people into the respective roles, then took the honors of introducing the two leading actors, the executive producer, the director, and the author upon herself. Some female reporters squealed when Ichigo said his hello and spoke briefly of his role in the movie. The adolescent heartthrob made sure to end off his segment with a cocky wink in their direction. They then dropped to the ground like flies.

When it was Ulquiorra's turn, a rival group of female reporters, together with some adoring photographers, began to frenetically snap away, the shutters clicking and flashlights blinding. Ulquiorra saw a milky way of white spots and a few white sheep hovering around his head.

"So, Ulquiorra-san, we haven't heard of you since your last movie, and belated congratulations on your win for Best Actor. What have you been up to lately? I'm sure your fans and detractors alike would love to know," a reporter asked enthusiastically, and shoved the voice recorder towards Ulquiorra's mouth.

"I fed my cat," he deadpanned, then pushed the offending machine away. "And it grew fat."

It did not take a deaf man to observe an extended space of face-faulting silence reigned throughout the ballroom.

"What about your co-star? The very adored Kurosaki Ichigo? What do you think of him? A new challenge, since he has yet to test the waters of serious acting?" the same reporter asked again, after clearing her throat.

"Yeah, how about this, we all know that Ulquiorra-san is a man of few words, so, may I daringly suggest a description of Ichigo-san in a word?" another joined in, his bulbous nose wrinkling in twitchy thrill.

_'That lousy idiot had better say something decent,'_ Ichigo thought, clasping his hands together and left them on his lap.

Both question and Ichigo's little action earned a discreet smirk from Ulquiorra, who then made sure to hold his orange haired co-star's gaze for longer than required. And kudos to him, he said only one word.

"Who?"

_'What the ffff-!'_ Ichigo stifled an angry shout, and forced himself to swallow it. He was not going to be baited that easily. He was not going to lose his cool in front of the media. He was not going to risk being lectured on the many ways to conduct himself properly in public. He was not going to fall prey to his agency director, an infamous windbag who never failed to get all weepy-eyed and mournful on the evergreen topic of 'Peace'. He was going to be a learned man, albeit of the high school level, but that did not undermine his intellect in any way. He was going to treat this foolish, pallid, so-called grown up with pathetic make-up skills as the very ignorant kid he was at heart, one who spouted bullshit everywhere he went. He was going to respond in kind, but of the genial variety, indicating his open-mindedness and tolerance of negative beings such as the green eyed man, who to his dismay, sat on his left. Luckily, Ichigo had the smarts to shift his chair further away from his co-star, lest the latter decided to hit him up with a poisoned syringe from nowhere.

"How about you, Ichigo-san? Any thoughts on your new co-star? The critically acclaimed actor, Ulquiorra Schiffer?" another reporter piped in hungrily, her hawk-like eyes zeroing in on Ichigo.

"Describe him in two words!" a voice added from where the doors were.

"Devious sociopath," Ichigo answered bitingly despite himself, wanting the stoic man to have a taste of his own bitter medicine. What he had not known was people did fight poison with poison, but bitterness is no poison, hence he was quite doomed to fail.

"It's your turn now, Ulquiorra-san. Three words!" the reporters at the front chimed eagerly. They knew it; they could smell an entire segment of solid entertainment gossip coming up, right in front of their searching faces.

"Blaze of failure."

"Ichigo-san, four words!"

_'That self-righteous bastard, thinks he's all smart saying that! If he wants to play with me, then that's what he's going to get. He'd better not blink! For here I come!'_ thought Ichigo, his brown orbs glinting maliciously. "Pompously crazily sadistic nincompoop!"

That earned a huge roar of wows and applause from the media personnel, who were really getting into this surprise of a verbal fight. Nobody had expected Ichigo to be able to use historical words as a form of expression, let alone use it accurately. They thought they would hear easy-to-use words such as 'idiot', 'bastard', or even 'son of a bitch', but that would stretch the tally to seven. They then realized that Ichigo could actually count correctly; that most definitely set him a wee bit apart from all the other teen idols lining the streets with their endearingly foppish smiles.

"Five words!" they chanted in unison, heads snapping towards the green eyed man in anticipation.

"A garbage can of trash," Ulquiorra answered without batting an eyelid.

"Six!"

"Says the one who is trash!" Ichigo yelled, visibly upset at being called trash, and not only that, but a garbage can of it? It proved too much for his suppression of violent urges, and he had to cease them before he wound up doing something that would tarnish his perfect image in the eyes of the public. Somehow, mental pictures of a black skinned demon with Ulquiorra's blank expression plastered on it ran amok, what with said creature knocking over a trash bin overspilling with litter, then picking it up one by one and set the bin upright, only to kick it down again later, and the frustrating cycle repeats itself.

"Seven!" the chorus of voices resonated in accordance with every increase in numerical values.

"Of the criticism received he deserved them," Ulquiorra sniped in reply.

He hated to admit this, but it was rather fun to have someone who would finally stand up to his verbal attack, and Kurosaki Ichigo was more than a suitable candidate for him to launch those missiles at. The talentless orange haired man could not be that lacking in wit (although still pretty dim), if he was able to use a term speculated to originate in 1676. Ulquiorra had a sudden urge to see what more he could do to push Ichigo right till the edge's precipice, which in fact meant the steepest, most crumbly bit of a perilous, mountainous, sandy cliff. Maybe he really was a sadist, as previously alleged.

"Eight!" the increase in volume was palpable, and it seemed like everyone in the ballroom, be it reporters or security guards, were in on the whole deal. If one looked closely, humongous pearls could be spotted rolling about in the reporters' eyes, for they really had scored a massive coup. It did not matter if the scathing exchange of words was staged or otherwise. It simply gave them a truckload of ideas to expand upon, and a stack of blank pages to fill up, and with some proper luck, monetary gains.

"A rotten apple waiting to be skinned alive!" Ichigo took time to calm himself down, and chided himself mentally for rising to the bait. When dealing with an unscrupulous asshole such as Ulquiorra Schiffer, one must always remain unfazed. That was rule number one. Rule number two being brave enough to put the man in his place, which Ichigo deemed himself to be doing with zero success, though one should never place his courage in suspect.

"Nine!" everyone shouted. Even Shinji was partaking in this amusingly innovative way of describing one's co-star. But this time, they failed to obtain whatever gems of wisdom Ulquiorra was about to share with them. A blue haired man had pushed open the doors dramatically, stormed down the aisle in his grungy red Doc Marten's boots, and shoved aside those who hampered his path toward the stage.

What was already the racket of a crowd had grew to become thunderous, with people demanding who the heck was this barbarian raining in on their party.

"Oye boring bastard! Gotta go! Dun waste ya time on these los'rs! Got a mayjah shoot at Shinjuku in twenty!" he announced in a rough voice, looking straight at Ulquiorra as he did.

The green eyed man glared back in acknowledgment, then said, "Shut up, Grimmjow."

"Ya can't shut me up for all da money ya hav'! Get movin', wont cha?" Grimmjow placed both hands on his hips impatiently, and drummed some fingers against the fabric of his tattered designer jeans. "Or do ya want me to come up there and drag ya down to the car? Slower than a fuckin' snail."

Ichigo finally understood what Ulquiorra had previously meant by his inference on one's character from their hair color. Grimmjow Jeagerjacques – Ulquiorra's agent/manager/cousin was one in perfect synchronization with the bright mane he possessed in breadth. Like the electric blueness itself, just after meeting the well-built man of over eighty kilos of brawn, he shone in the sea of dull black heads, and as Ichigo thought that, he turned to look at Ulquiorra, and decided his was the dullest of the lot.

The orange haired man also concluded on the spot that the underlying reason behind Ulquiorra's intense prejudice against people born with colorful hair was fueled by jealousy. Say, Grimmjow, with his maniacal good looks and mean hulk of a figure, nabbed more girls than Ulquiorra ever could dream of, therefore the raven haired man had been holding a grudge ever since.

_'That must be it_ , _'_ Ichigo agreed, nodding along with his choir of inner Ichigos.

"Are you a lunatic?" Ulquiorra's cold voice disrupted his train of productive contemplation.

"Huh? What lunatic? You...pasty faced pig!" Ichigo shot back on impulse, temporarily forgetting the existence of the hungry droves of reporters.

"I asked, if you're a lunatic, and you continued to nod. That says it all," Ulquiorra replied, ignoring the lame jibe on the shade of his complexion and unrelated relation to a farm animal. He then rose from his chair, nodded at Byakuya slightly, and walked off the stage in his signature posture: a slow, casual walk, with the coattails of his black blazer flapping in the wake, and hands tucked in the pockets, out of sight.

"Hurry, slowpoke! MY FEET ARE HURTIN'! Ya betta pay me more for 'tis fuckin' life!" Grimmjow snarled, and whipped out a comb to tame a blue strand that fell out of place. Ichigo observed the comb was one popular with yakuza-influenced teenagers in the mid nineties. It was made of plastic, and had a long, sharp end. It looked unrefined, uncouth, and unsafe. Needless to say, it was made in China.

"I hope the plastic corrodes your scalp," Ulquiorra offered kindly as he brushed past his taller relative. He did not forget to throw in a relevant remark for his orange haired co-star as he closed in on the distance to the exit. "You should use it too, Kurosaki Ichigo. Complements you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Count the number of words Ulquiorra spoke at the end.


	5. A Little More Conversation

"What's this?" Ichigo asked, as Renji carefully placed a UFO plush doll adorned in downsized black Shinsengumi robes, on Ulquiorra's dressing table.

"Duh. Ain't it obvious?" Renji snorted in response. "It's for Ulquiorra-san to peruse."

"He has one? What about me?" Ichigo made a nasty face at the doll. It was adorable, no, make that truly, hopelessly, squeal out loud kind of adorable, but nonetheless the deformed reincarnation of the number one name on his freshly made black list.

"It's in another package, someone will bring it here for you later," came Renji's reply, as he busied himself with thumbing through the day's hectic activities of movie preparation.

Ichigo stared at the super deformed plush doll set against the mirror, picked it up, then gave it a few pokes in the eyes and earth-quaking shakes, making the doll suffer some much maligned injuries.

"Hello to all of you, my beloved nutty fans. Today, I present you with...my chibi self! Stodgy, fat legs. Ha! Plump, flabby arms. Ha! Look Ma, no neck. Ha! Fake felt hair. Ha! A face whiter than flour. Ha! I'm an idiot, and I'm an idiot. It feels so wonderful to be an idiot! I'm an manipulative spastic who is always up to no good. I love makeup, they make me so pretty! I love them black too, because I'm so hardcore! Head bang! I love skirts too! Can't tell? I love myself. I'm Ulquiorra the Imbecile. I'm a little teapot, short and stout! Nice to meet you, and you, and you," Ichigo said in a distorted sing-song voice, twisting the doll's cushy limbs back and forth, the blank tone mimicking that of his stoic co-star's, and finally, pushed the lifeless plush doll into taking a bow.

"Hey! Don't touch that!" Renji cried, and snatched the UFO plush doll away from the orange haired man's grasp. "This is only a prototype, one of its kind. It's for you guys to look at and provide feedback to the doll makers, before they release it wholesale during the movie release!"

"I do what I like, dumb pineapple," Ichigo snapped, and grabbed the poor plush doll, then ran to a corner of the room like an immature child. "That pasty faced jerk doesn't deserve something as remotely cute as this! Hence I'll torture it. Torture it! Torture it!"

"Are you a psychopath? It's just an UFO doll! Oh yeah, speaking of cute. It's really well done. I wonder what would Ulquiorra-san think when he sees his own super deformed self," Renji commented, as his eyes followed the doll with a pair of globular, unblinking green eyes, and long, felt black hair pulled back into a bun.

"Torture it! Torture it!" Ichigo continued to ramble on gleefully, flinging the helpless doll into the air, then caught it, and flung it upward again. "Serves you right for pissing me off all the time, you ill-mannered black head! Snooty green eyed bastard! I'm having my revenge now bwa ha ha-"

"Do you really think your crazy actions help? You have some deep issues, methinks," Renji said, now a little worried for his famous friend.

"-ha ha ha! And I'll strangle you! Then I will jab you with the pointed end of a plastic comb! You're so dead, Ulquiorra Schiffer! I'll curse you, curse you, strangle you, str-an-gl-e you!" Ichigo ignored his manager completely, and proceeded to choke the innocent Ulquiorra UFO plush doll with both hands planted firmly round its throat.

"Is this you?" a chillingly familiar voice pricked the devious joy overrunning in the room. It was the man himself, with all scraggly black hair and jade eyes and green lines flowing a thin stream down his ashen cheeks. He gingerly held an orange haired UFO plush doll by the ear, and a gigantic pair of scissors in the other. Evidently, he certainly wasn't too pleased to see his personalized plush doll being tormented needlessly, and by his much despised co-star at that.

"Hey! Don't manhandle Chibi-Me!" Ichigo snarled at the real life representation of the doll he had mishandled earlier on, and attempted to free his doll from Ulquiorra's hold, but to no avail, for the smaller man had jerked his hand away in the nick of time.

"They did a brilliant job, I have to say. It resembles you. It's ugly," Ulquiorra stated clearly, never mincing his words. "And dopey."

"How dare you..." Ichigo growled, incensed at the sight of his difficult co-star. "Yours is worse! It looks suicidal!"

"No, you gotta admit, Ichi, it's way cuter than yours," Renji added.

"Shut up! Whose side are you on?" Ichigo griped. "Can I sack you now?"

"No," Renji replied with all due seriousness, and flashed a quick grin at the green eyed actor, whose namesake easily fetched a high price for his agency. "Unless Ulquiorra-san wants to hire me."

"Traitorous baboon."

"Two against one," Ulquiorra said, with a subdued hint of victory, and his normally placid emerald eyes sparkled to life suddenly. "You lose, Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Don't look so delighted, Ulquiorra Schiffer," Ichigo muttered dangerously, and threw the raven haired doll onto the floor like a filthy piece of rag. He raised a sneakered foot and gave the doll a good stomp before kicking it aside. "Oops! There goes your doll. Not so _cute_ anymore."

Ichigo observed in wicked mirth as Ulquiorra's face further paled, and almost appeared to make a free lunge for his tiny misrepresentation, but hastily decided against it as such an action would no doubt ruin his 'cool guy' image. Said green eyed man never believed in getting even, but the topping of what was afflicted on oneself. He stayed calm as always, and breathed regularly to maintain a steady pulse, never once displaying his innate ire and heartfelt thoughts of tearing the insolent, talentless, mightily annoying carrot top a new hole.

"This," Ulquiorra began, and pointed at Ichigo's doll with the shiny edge of the scissors. "Is the very embodiment of trash. As all trash goes, they should be binned." He then placed the UFO plush doll's neck, or rather the lack of, between the twin incisive blades, and left it hanging there for a while, before closing the scissors' fatal grip on the soft material.

"Don't d-"

_SNIP!_

"-o it," Ichigo whimpered, as he witnessed the prematurely tragic death of his plush doll.

" _Dismembered,_ " Ulquiorra mocked, and angled his head for emphasis.

Ichigo was left reeling in horror as his unflinching co-star hurled his beheaded miniature self into the wastepaper basket, but not before bouncing the round, plush head in one hand, and tossed it nonchalantly at Renji, who was equally taken aback, for good measure.

 

* * *

 

"WHO DID THIS?" Soi Fon yelled irritably to the crowded room of people. She held up a headless UFO doll in her right hand, and in her left hand, a dirtied, deformed counterpart of Ulquiorra. Much to her chagrin and nobody's surprise, there was no show of hands. "No one? Can't be a phantom's work, am I right? The culprit had better own up. Before I find out for myself and send you to hell for good! I'm counting to three. That's my limit."

Ichigo fidgeted and at once dodged a penetrating stare hurtled in his direction. He pretended to take interest in watching his fingernails grow.

"One..."

Soi Fon glanced meaningfully at Ulquiorra, who seemed set on evading any means of eye contact with anyone and absolutely everyone.

"Two..."

Across the vast spaces that stood between them in the room, Ichigo and Ulquiorra's gazes somehow connected. Definitely not of attraction, but perhaps out of guilt, or perhaps the underlying chance to push the blame onto each other. The tension beheld in their mutual looks sizzled and hissed in the air like a firecracker, threatening to burst into a tumultuous sea of flames any moment.

"Thre-"

"It's him!" they cried (Ulquiorra uttered, unfazed of course) at the same time, forefingers pointing happily at each other.

Ichimaru Gin opted to make an overdue appearance then, and he signified it by clapping his skeletal hands off. "What joy!" he grinned. "Such tremendous rapport!"

"No time for nonsense," Soi Fon argued, and shoved Gin aside roughly. "Now, how am I going to answer to the makers of these dolls? They're the only ones they have made!"

"Uh, I'm sure they can remake it?" Ichigo offered meekly.

"They should scrape yours entirely," Ulquiorra piped in without invitation.

"Why yo-" Ichigo grimaced, and shook a fist at his co-star, of which earned him no reaction, for the latter was quite the unmovable mountain.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Soi Fon shouted, her face flushing a deep shade of red. Clearly the blood had swam upward to her head, defying gravity, making her see stars all of a sudden, and staggered a few steps backward, only to crash straight into a tall, forlorn looking man with wavy dark locks falling about his masculine jawline.

Gin stifled a chuckle at the sight of a harried Soi Fon, who quickly got to her feet and mumbled some inaudible lines as a form of apology. The man in question merely nodded in reply, and he seemed to have not slept for a thousand years.

"I'll handle the part about your bloody UFO dolls. But don't assume you two will be off the hook just yet. I'll find some ways to deal with you later. Although the press conference held last week garnered a more than optimal reaction towards the movie. Maybe I'll overlook your misdemeanor in favor of the not too poorly done promotion this time. Onto the important segment," Soi Fon whipped out her black PDA. "Gin, will you?"

"Huh?" Gin hummed leisurely, his attention momentarily captured by the two leading men, who had halted their verbal fracas, but still cast contemptuous glares at each other from time to time. It definitely would make for a most interesting turn of events, he thought snidely. Besides, it wasn't everyday that the emotionless Ulquiorra Schiffer could be bothered to rebuke his colleagues' words, and that already had happened more than once. Since last week, there was nothing in the Japanese entertainment circuit but talk about Autumn Chrysalis, and how incredibly witty and gifted the two main actors were. In some glorious addition, Ulquiorra's barrage of verbal assaults was targeted at the same person, the sole pathetic bull's eye, though he probably deserved it too, given his consistently cliched red-blooded young man temperament.

"You're as hopeless as them!" Soi Fon fumed. What was wrong with these people? They couldn't even handle two UFO plush dolls with delicate care, and now, building sandcastles in the air while in the middle of a crucial briefing. "Do your usual useless act."

"Right on," Gin chirped merrily. "Anyhow ladies and gentlemen, since this is a period piece we're doing, there will of course be tons of fights! Physicality is needed for sure, especially our two leading men," he paused to wink cheekily at Ichigo, who deepened his frown, then at Ulquiorra, who stared right through him.

"Not that many," the impassive tall man interjected.

"Yeah, maybe," Gin laughed shortly. "To you, that's for sure, and maybe _him_ as well. But not the rest I'm afraid, Stark old pal."

"I'm no old pal of yours," Stark replied tiredly, and fell back into the shadows.

"Nice cameo," Gin gave the sleepy man a thumbs up, then resumed his ditty-like speech. "Everyone will be required to clock in at least two months of training. It's April now, and this means the session will carry over to summer!"

A chorus of groans and unhappy moans rose spontaneously, with most waving their much anticipated summer break goodbye.

"Aww come on peeps!" Gin cajoled soothingly. "Ain't filming Autumn Chrysalis a dream of ours? Summer will come again next year, but not the movie!"

Soi Fon nodded. "I expect everyone to exceed their capabilities! If not, be prepared to see a new face taking over your role."

Lackluster sounds were speedily replaced by a cacophony of energetic, if not forced, grunts. Eager to latch onto this false wave of good will, Gin waved his hands about to gain the attention of the boisterous lot, and said, "Aren't you excited to know what's really in store for you?"

"Don't treat us like some elementary schoolers," Ichigo sniped. His lack of patience was already worn thin by Ulquiorra, whom he engaged in an eyeball lock-down still, and then there was this looney of a silver haired movie executive who thrived on treating fully grown adults as little toddlers who stumble and fall and wail and poop in their diapers. That said, his mood was further dampened by the newsflash that he would be stuck in training sessions for the entire summer. And probably with his frustratingly, infuriatingly, emotionally stunted retard of a co-star. Talk about a great vacation, ruined.

"Gee, I'm not!" Gin protested. "I'm just being jovial!"

"Yadda," Ichigo scoffed, and instantly berated himself for letting a shade of his true colors slip through. _'It's all that green eyed, make-up loving spastic's fault,'_ he thought.

"Whatever happened to your 'Nice Guy' persona?" Ulquiorra asked bitingly. "It falls away faster than flies dropping onto the ground."

"Shut up. You don't exist," Ichigo said, brown eyes narrowing.

"I do. I can see myself. But not you," Ulquiorra replied. "You're alarmingly imperceptible even under the scrutiny of a microscope."

"Whatever!" Ichigo retorted hotly, knowing fully he could yet reach the raven haired man's honed level of dishing out scathing insults.

"I wonder who started it?"

"You don't exist. La la la."

"If you hadn't disturbed me in the first place, you wouldn't be saying this now. In other words, you brought this onto yourself, and have only yourself to blame. Even if one of us has to disappear to maintain some sort of civility in this room, it would be you. Because you started it, Kurosaki Ichigo."

"You'd better shut up before I-I..." Ichigo scowled in frustration, but trailed off abruptly when he realized his quick tongue got the better of him again.

"You what?" Ulquiorra challenged, and advanced toward his co-star, like a panther stealthily creeping up to ensnare a hapless deer. Part of him secretly wished for Ichigo to rebuke with an impressive comeback (and he wondered what it could be), so he could better it and prove his imperious aptitude and intellect over the short-tempered man with equally impudent mannerisms, whereas the other simply wanted to thoroughly ignore him. Ulquiorra succumbed to his inquisitiveness however, and raised his chin defiantly. "Hit me?"

"I-I will do that...if you continue to come any c-closer," Ichigo stammered. He noticed the green eyed man's face was hovering a miniscule distance from his, and closing in on him. Ulquiorra then swiftly grabbed the front of Ichigo's black tee with one pale hand, making the younger man gasp at the strength possessed.

Ignoring the rest who were obviously watching on with nail-biting anticipation, Ulquiorra inched his lips toward the orange haired man's left ear, who at their proximity blushed a delicate pink, and with an air of caustic disquietude, he said, "Grow up."

Clouds of uneasiness grew increasingly dense, and soon it was broiling to the point where skies darken and an immense downpour looked inevitable. Even the foolhardy Soi Fon and Gin hadn't a clue what they could do to dispel the brewing storm, hence they broke into a laugh.

Laughter resolves everything. Laughter switches everyone's minds around. Laughter makes unpleasant events bearable. Not a simple upward twist of the lips, and neither a vague widening of the mouth, nor would a miserly churning of vocal cords and some lung power suffice. But a loud, maniacal, rip-roar of a laugh. Seeing Gin laugh was actually of not much percussion, but Soi Fon?

For a moment, everyone pushed the impending fist fight between the two leading men to the backs of their heads, and blatantly gaped at Soi Fon, who laughed her head off. Ulquiorra let go of Ichigo's shirt, and made a deliberate motion of swiping his hands clean, then stuffed them into the pockets of his trousers. The raven haired actor had also the acclaimed ability of letting his eyes speak for themselves, and then for one singular second, Ichigo thought he caught a pair of luminescent jade orbs smirk at him in all due superiority.

"Asshole," Ichigo grumbled under his breath, and furiously brushed away at parts of his shirt previously in contact with Ulquiorra's deceptively frail-looking limb.

" _You are nobody,_ " Ulquiorra shot back, mouthing the words as he did, not wanting to have the spotlight fall on him once more. He thought it to be uncharacteristic of him to be baiting Ichigo like this, but if the orange haired ex-teen star assumed he would be his equal in terms of stature, then it was his responsibility to have the latter humbled.

"Alright guys, break it up!" Gin intervened, pushing the two apart. "Make _love_ , not war. That said, where did I stop at? Such a comely interlude, huh?"

"The training session," Soi Fon added while rubbing her temples. It was only a month into the production schedule, and already the two fundamental blocks of a supposedly majestic structure were crumbling; they were adamant on accomplishing a complete collapse. She had to salvage the situation before it could get out of hand. It was her job.

"Yeps, training. Everyone is to take up sword fighting and learn basic stances. All but Ichigo and Ulquiorra! Since you two are paid more than anyone else in the team, other than the director, naturally the hard work falls to you," Gin said, his faint brows crumpling, looking almost apologetic. "You'll have body doubles, because we wouldn't want you hurt and have your agency coming after us demanding for compensation. But, there would be some frontal shots, yes I mean fighting scenes, not _those_ scenes yet, so Ichigo, quit impersonating a dying goldfish."

Ichigo closed his mouth at once and brought his enlarging pupils back to their normal sizes. He was too preoccupied with acting flustered at the mention of those intimate scenes, he hadn't noticed Ulquiorra was looking pretty nervous himself too, though the latter did an admirable job of masquerading it.

"Ichigo and Ulquiorra will be having personal trainers of their own!" Gin announced, and turned to address the two leading men. "You'll need to pick things up really fast, and they'll make sure it be a done task come the end of summer. If not, I don't know what to think, no, they would really ensure things be done. Absolutely, no? Starrk old pal? Kenpachi-san?"

"Heh, hell yeah!" a raggedly coarse voice rang out from behind Starrk – who promptly fell into a deep slumber whilst leaning against a dresser, and a sequence of bells could be heard ringing. "I'll be getting this guy called Ichigo eh?"

Gin yelped in agreement. "And Ulquiorra will be having Starrk dude for his trainer."


	6. Fight-O-Rama!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shinai – used in Kendo, meant to represent a katana and is made of 4 bamboo slats.
> 
> Kata-yo – a real sword used for display of kata – which includes fundamental techniques of attacking and counter-attacking in Kendo.
> 
> Kendo – the way of the sword.

Ichigo was more than tired; he was hammered. Absolutely trounced by one larger than which Thor wielded. He was punched by fists of stone and sometimes bamboo. He was practically tossed about, with the perpetrator caring for neither left and right, up and down, then left and right, and up and down again. Beyond all forms of exhaustion was he, and dying for a brief respite of just seconds he was, and that alone he couldn't even have. He wanted to take it like a man, but his determination was on the brink of surrendering to his knackered body. He found it harder and harder to concentrate now; his knees were wobbly and joints hurting. He barely found the energy to lift an arm, much less wield a shinai, despite the relative lightweight it was.

It had been six hours since training began, and he was forced to go through a twenty kilometer run for warm-up, then fifty rounds of pull-ups, and two hundred sit-ups. Breaks were disallowed. The next two hours were spent being chased around the medium-sized hall by Zaraki Kenpachi, his personal trainer for the movie.

Ichigo's palms were made rough from the incessant gripping of the wooden hilt and calluses were set to form. Rivulets of perspiration continued to ooze out of his pores, occasionally dripping into his ajar mouth and he flinched at the saltiness of it. He hadn't a single drop of water since breakfast, much less some godly crumbs of whatever.

"Again!" A rough voice cackled. It belonged to Kenpachi, all gungho and ever ready to shed some unnecessary blood in the name of violence. "Come at me again you nasty little fucker!"

All Ichigo wanted to do was to dash past the monstrous, towering hulk of a brute, out the door, through the walkways, speed like a roadster down the highway, and back into the comfort of his room. But reality hurt; there was no way he could escape this madhouse. One thing for sure, he never seemed to outrun Kenpachi (even though in truth he was much ahead of the bells-wearing man), much less outfight him.

"OWW!" He winced in pain as a bamboo slat came loose from his trainer's shinai and slapped his back in aggressive repetition.

"You weren't paying attention!" Kenpachi barked. "Again!"

"W-WAIT!" Ichigo placed a palm before his trainer's face, blocking his sight. Sadly, it amounted to nothing.

"I can't hear you!" Kenpachi continued to beat at the spent young man. His strokes were ferocious and unyielding. They rained down on Ichigo's body like aimless arrows stained with poison at the tips. "Learn to speak the fucking up!"

"I need w-water," Ichigo gasped. "I really need water..."

"If you win me you'll get water!" Kenpachi said, eyes twisting into cruel lines. "Clean fucking water."

"I..huff...am...going to die..." Ichigo mumbled breathlessly, him being severely depleted of moisture that he couldn't speak outright. "I...r-really am..."

"You say this all the time, Ichigo! The day before today and yesterday and last week and the week before the last and the month before this! How do you expect me to believe you? And you haven't won me yet," Kenpachi growled. "Just fight me like a fucking man for once, you pansy brat!" Then with muscles tensed and breaking forth for a good fight, lips curved into a hellish snarl and orbs wet with frenzied violence, he charged at Ichigo.

 

* * *

 

"Swing it to the left," Starrk moved his shinai to the left with lazy strokes. "Then swing it to the right."

Ulquiorra did as he was told, then stopped when he found it appeared ridiculous an action. "We can skip the basics, Starrk-san. And we've already done this two weeks ago."

"Oh, my bad," Starrk said, looking unapologetic. "Was it you who said you know a bit of Kendo?"

"Yes," Ulquiorra answered in his signature flat tone. "I know it very well too."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? Could have saved me a whole lot of trouble!" Starrk raised his voice in unwarranted indignation. "I drew up all these training plans for nothing!"

"I told you right at the start. Your eyes were closed then, but you nodded and said 'Yes, yes, run along kid'," Ulquiorra replied without missing a beat, filled with disbelief that he actually played the fool alongside his trainer, who couldn't be bothered even if the sky was to suddenly collapse on him. He would prolly treat it as an additional cushy wolf-skin bed rug atop his comforter and snore his lonely life away. "Don't lie about the training plans. You obviously never plan anything in advance."

"Oops, you found out," Starrk emitted a woeful smile. "Don't tell the Kuchiki man. I'll let you duel me for free."

"It's supposed to come with the package," Ulquiorra answered, almost exasperated.

"Really? No one told me," Starrk feigned ignorance, and turned to the side so the green eyed man couldn't see through his dire act.

"Remarkable acting," Ulquiorra quipped. "Why don't you show me the action choreography, since there's no point in teaching something I already am capable of?" He asked, then walked to the weaponry shelf and tossed a kata-yo toward Starrk. "For real."

"How troublesome. Can't we do something else?"

"What do you suggest then? I'm not going to repeat these menial activities."

"Yeah yeah, we all know how intelligent you are, _Ulquiorra-san_ ," Starrk stifled a yawn, and put the kata-yo back on the stand. "I'm so against violence."

"Likewise," Ulquiorra admitted, placing his shinai on the floor and stepped over it. In all due honesty, he never fancied the idea of working up a sweat, and thankfully Starrk shared the same mentality. He shuddered to think what the current situation would be like had he gotten the other fellow, loopy demeanor and all. Having a trillion tiny bells attached to one's hair easily spoke volumes of one's personality.

"Let's head out for lunch then. Stomach's rumbling."

Ulquiorra checked his two million yen watch. "It's only 10:30 now."

"We can come back at 2."

"Will Soi Fon know?" Ulquiorra asked, a little hopeful yet worried. It wasn't that he was afraid of the casting director, she was fierce oh yes, but then again he wasn't intimidated by nobody. He simply disliked being shouted at, especially when a loudhailer lay in her hands. That really spelt trouble. Trouble for the eardrums. He then rubbed his earlobes with precipitous concern.

"Nah," replied Starrk, self-assured. "Anyways you're an actor, and a damn good one at that. Do the usual if we're caught. Cry, beg, run, whatever. She will buy it. Someone told me he saw her bawling her eyes out while watching the sad little movie you debuted in."

"I won't do that, Starrk-san." Ulquiorra was slightly cross with the perpetually sleeping man who wasn't asleep at this point of time but appeared to be working on doing so with surety. "But I very much entertain the idea of an extensive lunch. And I know of a restaurant nearby that has quite a decent buffet spread."

 

* * *

 

"You're getting the hang of things huh, Ichigo!" Kenpachi grinned, revealing rows of white jagged teeth. "Fucking smart boy, ain't you. I love it when you hack wildly! Reminds me of my younger self. All brash and unrefined. It was fucking good then. Then that fucking old geezer interfered. Pisses me off. He ruined me. Fuck him and his fucking hair that grows on the wrong side of his face, ha ha!"

"I...huff...don't hack wildly! I do it with style!" Ichigo protested, groping at where he had been struck repeatedly. He liked to think himself as wielding the shinai with flawless grace, but the barbaric man swung his weapon at him with such unpredictability that he hadn't a choice but to block whatever moves he could make sense of. "And I'm not a boy, you hideous, deranged hedgehog!"

"Whatever the fuck you say, you girly little knickers-wearing wimp. Practise on your own. In that corner! Far away from this spot! No buts. Wake me up when you encounter any difficulties. And you'd better not because I don't like it when people fuck around while I'm asleep. I will _kill whoever is involved_ ," warned a sinister-looking Kenpachi, the bells in his thorny hair echoed his hellish threat.

Ichigo gulped like a clueless guppy.

Then, capping a humongous hand over his open mouth, the Fighting Man let out a thunderous yawn, flung his shinai on the floor with blatant disregard, and lay down in the middle of the training hall while releasing a belch that threatened to shake the foundations of Earth. As soon as he snored his way into a deep slumber, Ichigo hurriedly put his shinai down, crept soundlessly toward the huge man, and wagged a finger between his eyes. Having received no reaction from the sleeping man, he felt pleased that his life wasn't endangered in any way. Then patting himself on the back in silent congratulation, he snickered quietly and left the room for a much needed afternoon snack.

 

* * *

 

_Crunch..._

Ulquiorra nibbled away on a buttered corn cob, eyes skimming past vertical lines of fine print, completely oblivious to his orange haired co-star's frazzled stares of hunger and jealousy through the frosted glass panel on the door. The latter watched in envy as a yellow kernel, soft and squishy, was left out in the cold, it being stuck on Ulquiorra's upper lip. He sniggered to himself; it was similar to a moldy mole.

_Slurp..._

Ichigo's mouth watered out of its own accord. The drool dribbled down his chin and he concocted a brilliant plan for his galling co-star to hand over the scrumptious looking corn cob. It glittered invitingly on a plain Styrofoam plate, untouched, and emitted an aura so seductive and tempting. He wanted to nail it to the spot and ravish it silly. It worsened when he spied Ulquiorra's pink tongue darting out, flicked the obstinate lone kernel onto its tip, then gobbled it down.

"Oi pasty faced pig! I'm going to report you for slacking!" Ichigo shouted in all his obnoxious glory and busted the door open. "And for pulling that glum face all the time!"

Ulquiorra looked up from the newspaper, and eyed him frostily. "Go ahead."

"I really am! Unless..." Ichigo turned his attention to the corn cob on the Styrofoam plate.

"What?" Ulquiorra followed his gaze, and smirked in hidden gaiety when he understood what the bright haired irritant sought.

"You give me that corn cob! Then I will zip my mouth, 'cause it'd be stuffed with food, ha ha," Ichigo narrowed his eyes, attempting to come across as scheming. Ulquiorra thought he looked as villainous as a church mouse.

"Is that all? Alright then. I can't finish it anyway," Ulquiorra beckoned for Ichigo to enter the pantry, and pushed the plate toward the orange haired man.

"You sure? Is it poisoned?" Ichigo took a step forward, hesitant. He had expected Ulquiorra to downright reject him, or perhaps even snuff the corn cob down his throat, just so he could pique his fury. But the latter hadn't done that, to his credit, and Ichigo was confounded. He needed time to reason this lapse in logic, and in the cavernous hunger of the minute, he surmised it was because they hadn't seen each other for a while: two months to be exact. They usually underwent their respective trainings at different facilities, but the venue where Ulquiorra visited was currently undergoing renovation and hence the venue had been shifted. Perhaps distance rendered the mind forgetful, either of his failure to win his co-star at oral altercations or he really did push it to the back of his head, he hardly found him as reprehensible as before. Or maybe, Ulquiorra was a block of ice who needed time to thaw and let his better side emerge.

"Expect to see me lying dead on the ground five minutes from now," said Ulquiorra, emerald orbs fixed upon the other's warm brown ones.

"Gee, who would have thought? Me and the undisputed Chairman of Sarcasm sharing a buttered corn cob and not clawing each other's eyes out! The press would love it I say," Ichigo chortled. He dragged a plastic chair out and sat on it, massaging his sore knees in the midst.

"I hear you got it bad," Ulquiorra offered his brief condolences, and caught a glimpse of the many bruises and superficial injuries Ichigo had sustained. He supposed he could feel a twinge of sympathy for him, but the fact he was Ichigo (the pesky owner of blinding orange hair) canceled the probability entirely.

"That's unquestionable. Kenpachi's raving mad. Anyhow, why so kind today? It's terribly unlike you. Is this really you or your considerate clone? Or did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today, or better still, land on the floor with a spine cracking thud?" Ichigo grinned a grin with such despicable wideness that the green eyed actor wished for it to rip apart.

"I don't want you to swoon at my feet," he stated plainly, fingertips nudging the plate forward.

"Ha ha ha," Ichigo drowned himself in a sonorous bout of fake laughter. "Over my starved body."

"Eat it before it turns cold," Ulquiorra replied, making sure to carry a matronly tone between those lines, yet indiscreet enough for his masqueraded intention to not sail over Ichigo's presumably empty head. After all, he acted for a living. He continued to push the plate toward the latter, urging him to consume the corn cob at once.

The carrot top was truly naïve, and he took the devious act for real. He wanted to burst into tears then, be it out of rising waves of hunger or alarming surprise at Ulquiorra's compassionate, selfless display, but refrained from doing so. Suddenly he felt angry and upset with himself for cursing his raven haired co-star to several degrees of purgatory. Maybe the latter wasn't as deplorable as at first and second and third and many more other impressions. Heck that. He, Kurosaki Ichigo, poll-winning heartthrob of many, was supposed to be the sensitive nice guy under all that tough exterior.

Not Ulquiorra 'Pasty-faced Pig' Schiffer!

That man had been nothing but callous toward him, and generally everyone else he came across. It was even well publicized, but that never bothered him, because he was that cold-blooded, and now, the chilling, blue, placid blood was coursing through his very veins, causing him to become wicked and turn away from sanctuary!

To think he actually suspected Ulquiorra, the newly reformed man, of faking his Good Samaritan act. What was wrong with him? Had he grown so weary from the strenuous and Spartan-like physical trainings that he misjudged people? Or had his prejudice get the better of him? He had previously thought of a bile so acidic that it corroded the man's conscience; it seemed like he was the one in possession of it. He really ought to be hung for his thought crimes against Saint Ulquiorra, patron archangel of sweetcorn crops and famished young men.

"T-thanks," he mumbled in shame, red-faced from the revelation at how narrow-minded he was.

"No problem," Ulquiorra replied, fingertips still nudging the plate across the table, this time with more force, causing the corn cob to rock slightly.

Ichigo thought the theoretical possibility for them to forge a cohesive working relationship was at long last bearing fruit, and for the first time in his life of almost twenty-three years, he smiled brightly and sincerely at the green eyed man, who in return continued to push the plate forward. "You don't seem so mean after a while. I bet you still are, but not as mean as the mean idiot months ago."

"Really?" Ulquiorra quirked a brow. He badly wanted to smile too (though for an utterly antonymous reason), but held back the tug at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, that's why. Clash of personalities. And I don't insult people all the time, for your information. Unlike you," Ichigo stuck a hand out to reach for the corn cob. He felt satisfied with his tactful handling of matters. "Although I was really pleasant at first and you were hella nasty. And then you turned me into a mean, impolite man. Luckily I'm self-conscious enough to bring myself back to earth."

"I see. I give you my corn cob, and all of a sudden you think I'm playing nice." The green eyed man applied greater pressure on the plate, making it jiggle in a volatile fashion. He watched in some concealed fascination as the corn cob tilted toward Ichigo dangerously, threatening to leap for freedom anytime.

Ichigo sneered at the comment, then when the object of his gastronomic affections was a mere millimeter from his desirous grasp, Ulquiorra saw it as a punctual prompt to give the plate a final shove. The corn cob jutted onward, slid past the table like a plane on the runway, flew freely in the air, broke through the chains of gravity, did a defying somersault, then gratified with its abrupt acrobatic performance, smashed itself against Ichigo's dirtied sweatshirt kamikaze style. At a pace an elderly tortoise holds with pride, it slithered down the front of his shirt, leaving a yellowish trail behind, before rolling away to some uncharted lands.

"W-what was that for?" Ichigo cried as he looked on in horror. He was hungry. Cold. Fatigued. He was wearing a dirty shirt made dirtier by a food he could be having now. It was the most ideal combination of things. It was the perfect recipe for mental collapse. He could feel a magnificent breakdown looming in the neighboring horizons. It was coming through any time, any second. He was starting to see a plethora of colors and galaxies, all at once. He was suppressing them. No he wasn't. He was practically a raging pit bull with balls of fire simmering under its taut skin, and Ulquiorra, the adamant flag-waving Matador.

"I'd rather dangle it over a trash bin or drop it down a rubbish chute then have you share my food, Kurosaki Ichigo. You don't deserve it."

"Bastard! You can insult me all you like, but you can't waste food! It's FOOD! My poor baby!" Ichigo wailed in bereavement for the contaminated corn cob. Elsewhere around the world, a ring of poverty-stricken children joined him in his vigilant cries for perfectly good food gone to waste.

"Your retardation is contagious."

That was it. The red flag had been raised. Enough was enough, and Ichigo decided at long last that he did have enough of the insufferable raven haired man. He could forgive, but never forget. At least he thought he could, but now he could do neither. Ulquiorra Schiffer was beyond forgivable, but it be ideal to cast his existence to sand particles and dust (or even atoms!). Barking at him didn't quite cut it, he would allow his limbs to do the talking this time, and put an apt end to the hurt heaped on his diminishing pride once and for all.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer! I really am going to wrangle the hell out of you!" The brash one strewn his ravenous hunger aside, and with a war cry, he leaped out of his chair, ignoring the numerous aches and pains he was nursing barely just, arms stretched out for his co-star's neck. The fragile body part looked so tantalizing then, Ichigo thought. All he could picture was him wrapping his fingers tightly around it and squeezing it lifeless. He thought a thousand thoughts while sailing through the air. Morbid, homicidal thoughts. The accomplishment of thoughts that would undoubtedly land him behind bars. He had heard of hideous activities being performed on men incarcerated by other men incarcerated. He was still young. He had a career ahead of him. He would like to visit New Zealand one day. He couldn't decide upon the course of action to take. The second he made up his mind was when gravity won, and he wound up sprawled across the small wooden table, which under the sudden weight impacted, began the buckling of its spindly black legs.

"You can't even reach me," said Ulquiorra, looking down upon Ichigo who was all shades of mess and irrationality. He got up from his seat, right before the table crashed in spectacular aplomb and sent an orange haired fool wheezing at his branded white sneakers. Snidely, he added: "Are the dust mites delicious?"

Ichigo ain't caring about anything no more. He momentarily had a change of heart seconds ago before he fell from his temporal flight in mid-air, but now, he could only think of seeking revenge for the corn cob (which rolled back to its hometown), for mistaking the man's malevolent conduct as the unthinkable opposite, and for all the ill treatment – of the mental, metaphysical and physical varieties, heaped on him by said culprit. He was truly embittered; a lone ranger on a warpath to destroy everything in sight.

"Oi to those two ugly fucktards over there!" Someone yelled brusquely. It was Grimmjow, and who else but him. He was on his way to the pantry for some biscuits and cola, and chanced upon two stray shinai lying on the ground of a training hall. Nobody was seen there, and he picked them up, thinking it to be his lucky day. Later did he spot Kenpachi all knocked out in a dark corner of the hall, and hastily made off with his scavenged items.

"Oi ya deaf pricks! Got biscuits? Got me some cola?" Grimmjow tried again. He failed at reading situations, even one with tensions escalating beyond stratospheric levels such as this. He was decidedly ignored by the pair who teetered perilously on the verge of tearing each other's limbs off, and he didn't like it. "Am I fuckin' made of glass or what. Stupid shits." He then ran a hand through his freshly styled blue hair, smoothed the front of his leather biker jacket, and watched the ballistic scene set to unpack itself before him, a shit-stirring grin forming on his lightly tanned face.

"Go to hell!" A murderous Ichigo - face dusty, sprung to his feet, fists balled, and threw a venomous punch in Ulquiorra's direction, but found the stone cold surface of the brick wall instead. It left him writhing in unbridled agony and involuntarily he let loose an explicit string of obscenities that transcended geographical and linguistic boundaries.

Grimmjow whistled like a hysterical wolf. He more than enjoyed it and made a point of laughing noisily to showcase his delight, one that built upon the suffering of others. Again, he was ignored. Partly because he never quite showed his face, and that his blatant laughter was obscured by the rising volume of an incensed orange head.

"Don't make me dirty my hands, Kurosaki Ichigo," Ulquiorra cautioned, green eyes glinting mercilessly. He artfully dodged a blow aimed poorly at his face, then another at his chest. "What awkward moves you have. Can't even get a punch right. Training is indeed wasted on you," he remarked. "An otter would have done better."

"I'm going to kill you! I'm going to beat you into a bloody pulp! I'm going to do it! I really am! Just you watch, you evil-doer who ruins food and cosmetics and my appetite!"

"Try and try until you die, tangerine trash."

The two fueling stars continued to do what they did best to each other for what seemed like an eternity, according to Grimmjow. That said it did naught to subtract the high score of entertainment value he judged the 'skit' to be. Ulquiorra was relentless in taunting the carrot top with creative insults each time he missed, which in turn earned him a larger barrage of kicks and fists that nowhere found their target.

"Ya losin', shitty orange freak! Let me help!" Grimmjow stepped out from the corner and shouted for all to hear. "That boring bastard's gunna murder ya ass once he gets into it! He will fuckin' dice ya, ha ha ha."

Preoccupied as Ichigo was with busting ineffective moves, he remained ultra sensitive to caustic jibes referencing the color of his hair. It was a bizarre case of genes yes, but it was his nevertheless. His ears picked up Grimmjow's words like a pair of TV antenna, and immediately turned his head to glance at the offending man, and observed a knowing smirk spread across his handsomely rugged features. "What? Get lost! It's between him and me!"

Grimmjow shook his head. "Oi dumb kiddo! Ya need a goddamn weapon!"

"Don't give him the wrong idea, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra took a quick break from tormenting his co-star with knife-edged comments and targeted them at his relative, with whom he often wished he wasn't related to. "Don't bring his hopes up."

"Don't tell me what to do." Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at Ulquiorra. "Let me give ya a helpin' hand, stranger!" Grimmjow roared happily, and went on to toss the mysterious pair of shinai at the two men. Ichigo caught it smartly, but Ulquiorra simply let the shinai soar past him and into the wooden debris.

"Isn't this the shinai Kenpachi used during practice?" Ichigo wondered aloud. "Why is it with you?"

Grimmjow promptly ignored his question and egged him on. "Fight, idiot!"

Ulquiorra chose to delete the larger than life image of his cousin, and pondered with affirmation that yet again with flagrant flamboyance Grimmjow had proved what a retarded twat he truly was. He thanked his personal good fortune that they bore no resemblance to each other, and if it wasn't brought up by Nosey Parkers, no one would ever sniffed out the regrettable reality of their blood ties.

"Get off your goddamn high horse, Ulquiorra Schiffer! Take the shinai and fight it out with me. Because if you don't I'm going to batter you, and damn well I will."

"I can topple you even without moving an inch," Ulquiorra replied, bored. The staid countenance wore off speedily when he felt a jolt of pain assault his nerve system.

"Ha! Gotcha!" Ichigo smirked and withdrew the shinai from his co-star's shin. "One nil to me. Go on, take the shinai, don't you want to hit back at me? Don't you? Afraid you will lose to me? I don't want to boast but I'm pretty damn good at this already. Kudos to the lunatic hedgehog. Go on, here, your shinai!" He strode over to the decapitated table, plunged a hand into the debris and retrieved the bamboo-slatted sword, then flung it at Ulquiorra, who decided to catch it this time.

"After I avenge the death of my corn cob, I'm going to eat an entire field of it! Are you going to stop me by chopping off entire crops of corn? With your bare hands or shinai? Ulquiorra bloody Schiffer!" Ichigo goaded.

Adrenaline began to pump into his lean, sinewy limbs with every word that steamrolled off his hot-tempered tongue. His pulse was quickening. The heart was propelling like a heated engine. His spirit was becoming ebullient. He hadn't experienced such nostalgic vibes for a while, not since graduating from high school. He used to partake in fights (those were the days!), be it alone or alongside his friends. Those training sessions with Kenpachi didn't quite count; the latter was a professional, and gobsmacked in the head too. Moreover he was thumped for the majority of it.

_'That insensitive pig has to be a newbie too,'_ Ichigo thought, _'although he seems oddly proficient at self-defense.'_

"Today is the day you learn how useless you are in this field," said Ulquiorra, wielding the shinai with his right hand. He tucked the other into his pocket, projecting a look of nonchalant composure. "To think it's come so late. But nevertheless."

"Shut up and fight me, asshole! I'll never pardon your atrocities, especially toward starving children!" Ichigo took position opposite his co-star, fingers gripping the hilt and set it firmly before him. For a passing division of a second, amidst the noisy rumbling of his stomach, he felt Kenpachi's insane love for battle surge through his bones, then seep into the marrow, and plunge into his bloodstream. The fatigue he had been through earlier was totally eradicated. The adrenaline had since flooded his thews. He could sense fire aglow in his eyes, the piping hot waves roaring, torching the room and burned his frigid muscles. He was absolutely raring to go. "You know the score."

"I grant you first mover's advantage." The green eyed man took a step backward casually. He closed his eyes, and appeared to lament a leisurely afternoon gone past. "Come."

More than irked his orange haired opponent was at his manly pride being trampled on, that he ruined his chances by rushing forward too fast, with no strategy nor finesse, but an arsenal of frenetic slashes and classless hacks. He missed, not just once or twice, but time and again. Despite garnering the best of his efforts, the animated actor looked to fumble disastrously.

"Your lack of co-ordination is appalling to say the least," Ulquiorra stated, countering the gnashing blows with facility. "I assume you've never experienced a victory. You're set on maintaining this streak, that I can assure you of."

"People like you should die a slow and painful death with your cell phone almost at your fingertips but you never can dial a single number for help!" Ichigo shouted in defiance. "Then people like me will walk past and stick a kitchen knife into your guts for good measure!"

"Such tawdry attempts at wit." Ulquiorra sidestepped Ichigo with a languid turn of his ankles, then struck the tip of the shinai at the other's chest. "Score one. We're level now."

Ichigo grimaced. He could hardly believe it. He was on the offensive, but the other took only some stupendous seconds to hit a vital spot. He did see it coming - Ulquiorra's shinai, he absolutely did, and yet he couldn't avoid being pummeled. On top of that, the green eyed actor was handling the shinai with only one hand. One _effing_ complacent hand! How did he become this skilful at Kendo in a matter of weeks? Was he a prodigy that Japan never discovered? What else did the pompous jerk ace at? Hence his superior attitude! Why not him then?

_'Life's unfair!'_ Ichigo bemoaned his lack of outrageous fighting prowess, and was reduced to a slimy green blob of jealousy. "Take out your other hand! Fight me at full strength, and don't ever belittle me again, you snooty moron!"

"Do you think you're worth the while?" _Clang!_ "More proof I should take your words with a hefty pinch of salt." Ulquiorra deftly blocked his bright haired co-star's blow with a clean maneuver and landed one against his abdomen, knocking him several feet backward. "Score two. What about you, cretinous apricot? What's your comeback this time? I just sailed into pole position."

"Shut your repulsive trap! You and your malicious slur! Don't choke on your venom and your horrible makeup skills, Ulquiorra Schiffer," Ichigo retorted. He staggered forward, and mustering what was left in his evaporating reservoir, he launched another attack, replete with an outcry of "I'm coming for your head, nauseating peewee bugger!".

Ulquiorra leisurely fleeted past him, then angled the shinai behind his back, locking Ichigo's in stagnancy. "Hard as you may try, you will never be able to come close. You and your kind. Teenage actors in pointless flicks trying to come good? Laughable at best. You're ten thousand light years away from the likes of mine and it is just an underestimation," he snapped. "Why don't you give it up. Not just this meaningless challenge, but the whole acting business. Saves everyone plenty of time and resources. I'm sure many would agree."

"As if I will let a lowlife determine the outset of my life!" Ichigo fumed. "Dastardly son of a gun!" The orange haired actor jumped and shinai raised high above his head, he brought it down on his co-star. Ulquiorra twirled his bamboo-slatted sword, then performing an immediate switch of hands and a sequence of nifty footwork, he successfully stepped out of harm's way. Ichigo's shinai slammed onto the ground, the resultant impact forming a dent on the carpet.

Ulquiorra scoffed at the impotency of his co-star's Kendo skills, and with a formidable surge of power, his bamboo-slatted sword ruthlessly whipped Ichigo's shoulder blades, first the left, then the right. The latter felt his shoulders droop simultaneously. Weakened, he sent his shinai clattering to the floor.

"Score three, imbecilic fool. We're almost there."

"Shit you and your heart of black crap," cussed Ichigo. He couldn't wrap his mind around the matrix: he was getting a sound bashing from Ulquiorra, who made everything appear as easy as breathing. He wasn't supposed to sit back and admire the green eyed man's fluid, albeit terse movements, but he did just that, and would rather be slaughtered by a butcher than admit that to anyone. It was exactly the manner he wished for himself to fight in. An apathetic sort of grace: lethal yet blithe. So enchanting the view of Ulquiorra moving in lackadaisical tandem with his shinai was, that Ichigo nearly ogled his eyeballs out. Then, in a bid to rid his head of rubbish thoughts, he bellowed: "You're as engaging as a pool of vomit!"

"If you were any slower, Kurosaki Ichigo, you'd be racing backward in time." Ulquiorra effortlessly moved past him and then behind him. In a time that rivaled the split of a hair's end, he swung his shinai across the air, them being incisive strokes, and smacked it against Ichigo's back, making him yelp in shock. "Score four. How long more are you going to keep this up?"

"Those who claimed your EQ to be negative could never be more wrong!" Ichigo hadn't the time to recover from the spanking he got, much less recover his weapon. When he shifted his pupils upward, the sight of Ulquiorra's implacable shinai swiping at his head greeted him. He bolted away instantly, the bamboo slats narrowly missing contact with his skull. "I checked your dictionary yesterday and realized it never existed in the first place!"

"Talk about rehashing senseless tripe. I suppose you are a champion of it," muttered Ulquiorra, displeased that he failed to up the score. He peeked at his expensive watch, and noted in panic it was nearing five. He had to finish this unofficial duel quickly, then scuttle home to feed his pet kitten. There was no more time to spend on his worthless co-star, Ulquiorra thought grimly. He struck his shinai out in one curt sweep, prepared to zero in on the kill.

"Ah shit!" Grimmjow cursed, before letting a conniving smile embrace his face. "I forgot boring bastard was the Kendo champion in our district! Too bad, kiddo! I guess I sorta miss watching _cousin dearest_ fight. Now he's all rightly fuckin' mad, time to say my byes! Ya are really a gone case, freako."

"Not so fast!" Ichigo pushed himself off the floor, and made a free-for-all lunge at Ulquiorra, who was about to swerve around for a final square off with the thoroughly defeated carrot top. The former whizzed like a crisply fired bullet, and startled the green eyed actor was, he lost connection with his feet, and dived dangerously forward, then backward. Arms flailing, balance missing, the wind knocked out of his floundering sails, he managed to twist himself around, and haplessly, he felt himself plummeting toward Ichigo. Desperate as he was to shuffle himself away, the tips of his toes refused to obey, and with an astounding clangor he collided into the sole victim of both his shinai and verbal torture.

Falling on top of him wasn't the worst thing, it was the position they were in. To delve into specifics, it was the position he was in. Palms pressed atop Ichigo's chest, one knee jutting against his groin, whilst another was lined along the floor. Then the mouth. Where else it could be but mashed against the orange haired man's, whole. To top things off Ichigo's mouth was acutely open; he wanted to cry out in embarrassment - some bewilderingly agonizing sensation he felt in his loins (no thanks to his co-star's knee); he had lost the fight, no, he was dumbfounded by the skulduggery of life altogether.

So was Renji, who had decided to drop by for a refill of his water bottle. What he saw was one he could never ever pass it up. It made him chuckle like a greedy piglet. He regretted not being there earlier, so he could get into the thick of marvelous happenings.

So was Ulquiorra, and especially Ulquiorra. He blinked a few times in rapid succession to nudge himself out of this horrid nightmare. He blinked again, realizing he was anything but dreaming, and sighed indiscreetly against Ichigo's lips, which then quivered and moved, and ended up sucking on his imperious co-star's bottom lip for a few excruciating seconds. It tasted of buttered corn.

"I knew it! I just fuckin' knew it!" Grimmjow declared, cackling in unfounded joy, breaking the horrific silence that settled in the atmosphere. He adored speaking in IM chat syllables - it evidenced the colossal levels of his awesomeness, and took utmost thrill in enunciating them separately. "Boring ol' bastard's findin' some love on the set"

Infuriated and mortified at his plight, Ulquiorra snappily removed himself off Ichigo, his actions never gentle: an elbow knocking into the other's chin; a knee roughly scraping against a mightily touchy area. Then he stood up, kicked a fallen shinai into his grasp, and hurled it like a javelin at Grimmjow's legs. The vindictive act saw the latter's knees falter and then sink dramatically onto the ground like a dying swan.

"FUCK YOU!" Grimmjow yelled, clutching at his legs as though a gunshot wound was afflicted on them. "Crazy bastard on the loose! Someone chain this fucktard up! Lock him away! I dunno this cunty loon!"

"What in the world happened, man? Ey Ichi, you okay?" Renji prodded his friend's soft tummy. Ichigo had no response. His face was deathly pale and somehow blue, he was breathing in irregular spasms, and he was totally out of sorts. His hands first swiped at his lips frantically, then shot to his lower region, and sluggishly, he keeled over to the side, bleating in mournful sputters about 'forgone crown jewels' and 'goodbye descendants'.

"Oi Nice Tats!" Grimmjow called out to Renji. "Get me an ambulance, will ya!"

"Hey!" Renji slanted a look at him. "What are you doing here? You're injured too?"

"The name's Grimmjow, stupid! G-R-I-DOUBLE M-J-O-NOT A BUT O-W," Grimmjow rolled his azure eyes. Arrogance reeked aplenty in his words, and left Renji seething at being called some unjustifiable names. "Ambulance _please_. My legs are fuckin' broke. Because of that epic bastard standing there!" He jabbed an accusing finger at Ulquiorra, who came out of the situation smelling like a dainty bouquet of daffodils. "Mr I-Can't-Fuckin'-Fight-To-Save-My-Nutsack suffered him too. That lousy fuckwit."

Ulquiorra promptly shot everyone in the pantry a supercilious glare, then focused on the carrot top whose cheeks were stained the shade of his hair. "This is what you get when you mess with me. Do you hear me, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"Y-you..." Ichigo stuttered in rage and discomfiture. "G-go to h-hell, y-you bloody top g-g-grade asshole..."

"Kurosaki-kun, are you alright?" A foreign voice broke through amidst the horde of male octanes. It was female, and contained the first genuine traces of concern heard in the pantry. "You look funny."

"I-ino-" Ichigo realized he was in a room chock full of people (the pantry was no mansion), and made haste to correct himself. "Orihime. I'm f-fine. Just a bad day at work that's all. Why are you here anyway? I thought we agreed to meet at seven."

The young woman named Inoue Orihime fumbled with her pastel blue cardigan for a while, almost shyly, then replied, "I was filming at a location nearby, thought I might drop by for a visit. I brought you lemonade and some sandwiches, in case you're hungry or just wanting a bite."

Ichigo nodded, face flushed. _'Inoue has food with her!'_ he thought happily. _'No wait. She HAS FOOD with her?!'_

"Ooh. Really?" The inquisitive blue haired man looked at Renji questioningly. "She's his girl? Freako has a fuckin' galfren who's fuckin' him?"

Renji bobbed his head, feeling dumb. "Yep. Truly so." He wasn't too sure about the latter bit of the question though.

"I thought those are rumors spun by the fuckin' boogies and paps," Grimmjow scratched his leg like a tardy ruffian, then grinned maniacally at Ulquiorra. "Tch! Now I know, it ain't no more fun! Poor boring bastard. All alone again!"

"None of this concerns me," said Ulquiorra, coldly. "I'm leaving."

"Where to?" Grimmjow yelled, scrambling about from where he sat. Grouching, he retrieved the two shinai and tucked them under his arm. "Goin' home huh? Ya really are a boring bastard of the highest degree. I'm coming along! I wanna see kitty!"

"Stay away," Ulquiorra replied, lips pursed. "She doesn't want to see you." He flashed a chilly stare at his co-star, who was now getting to his feet with Orihime's aid. "I suggest you quit while you still can."

"What do you mean, you spiteful thorn in the ass," Ichigo griped angrily, and looked ready to lock horns with the green eyed man again. "I signed up for this, and I ain't going nowhere!"

"Wouldn't want to ruin the movie with your abysmal lack of talent, would you," Ulquiorra implored. He had a truckload of thoughts to pour forth, but time was running out. Any needless moment spent here equated the growth in hunger levels for his beloved pet kitten.

"Don't say bad things about Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime interjected, tender gray eyes meeting a steely green pair. "I don't know what transpired between the both of you, but I have faith in Kurosaki-kun's character and abilities! In my opinion he's the best actor, because he puts one hundred percent into what he does, never shying away from unpleasantries, he's kind an--don't turn your back and walk away when someone's talking in earnest!"

" _Auf Wiedersehen_." Grimmjow gave a haughty wave of his hand, and trooped after Ulquiorra, his unzipped biker jacket flapping away in rebellion. They never looked back, not even once. They were _that_ cool, as duly reported.


	7. Chicken, Egg, Chicken

Ichigo was far from having the best day of his life, and if he be permitted to make a case for it, he'd most definitely proclaim it as the worst ever, though technically speaking his day had yet to begin. He traced a finger along each line of words in the script, and sighed heavily for the twentieth time.

"Oi," Renji called from the red couch he was stretching on. "What's that old man act for?"

Ichigo ignored him and continued to stare frying holes into the thick sheets he was holding.

"I'm sure I heard you sigh. It's practically a tornado," Renji snickered, then took a huge bite of his Mars Bar. "Depressed still?"

Ichigo looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Over _what_?"

"Mmm...it's been two weeks and you can't forget being absolutely thrashed by your lovely co-star? I know it's hard to accept a loss as one-sided as that and someone of your cal-"

"Shut up," Ichigo grumbled. "I'm concentrating on the lines."

"Sore loser."

"Whatever," the ex-teen actor turned to the other side, ignoring his manager completely, and resumed memorizing of his dialogue for the reading with Ulquiorra tomorrow; henceforth Ichigo had thought it to be an extremely dour day. It was a twenty-four hour countdown to imminent doom.

He hadn't seen his snooty co-star since that eventful day where his worsening impression of said green eyed man was aggravated to near esoteric proportions, and it made him glad, no, that was a horrendous understatement. Ichigo suspected he would sooner or later combust and subsequently incinerate the entire movie set.

"I hope I'd never see you again, idiotic druggie wannabe," he thought aloud and gave the cushion an unnecessary punch.

"Wait till the movie production ends, ha. And it hasn't even started for starters!" Renji grinned and waved his half-eaten Mars Bars around as though he was at a stadium supporting his favorite sports team. He seemed too overjoyed for Ichigo's liking. "I honestly wonder how you're gonna handle the sexy scenes, buddy. It'd be awkward, y'know, having known you for so long. Not even the sauciest of scenes in The Vampire could quite match them eh," the man's wolfish grin widened. "But the commission is spectacular!"

"Shut the hell up about those bloody scenes, you gold digger!" Ichigo growled. "Who gives a flying damn? I'll fit into the role so perfectly that I won't even bother about anything at all!"

"You said that! Quoted for truth, huh," Renji's grin was stretched beyond belief; Ichigo secretly wished for the talkative redhead's mouth to split apart. "We shall see in the next couple of days yeah, orange punk?"

"Bugger off."

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra was alone in the room; he had waited for more than forty minutes, and still his talentless co-star was being everywhere else but there. He had patience, but he also wasn't someone to be trifled with. They were to have a reading for their scenes together – a necessary requisite before shooting officially commenced two weeks later. It was also during this window period that actors and producers and scriptwriters get together regularly and make needed modifications to the lines. The green eyed actor then paced the length of the room, followed by its perimeter, and watched idly as time – precious seconds, skidded past and _still,_ Kurosaki Ichigo's absence was present.

Ulquiorra decided against dialing the carrot top's number, and he was adamant he hadn't asked him for it. _'It must be Grimmjow. Who else but him. He seems to be exceptionally proficient at such crooked activities,'_ thought the raven haired man. He whipped his cell phone from a pocket, and scrolled down to Ichigo's name. Then he hesitated again, reckoning there was no such need to torture himself with the boisterous man's pesky voice this early, and returned to the main screen.

Bored out of his mind, he retrieved a novel from his knapsack and began to read it for the seventh time. It was Autumn Chrysalis.

 

* * *

 

"Shit I'm late! Sorry!" Ichigo yelled as he burst into the room. "Bad traffic!" he lied – he had overslept again.

"I wouldn't expect any less of you," Ulquiorra stated coldly. "I assume your very presence caused cars to jam the roads and traffic lights to flash red immediately."

"How did you know?" Ichigo sneered and took up residence at the seat furthest from his co-star. "Where's the rest, moronic irritant? By the way the apology was meant for them."

"There's only me and you."

"What? I thought Shinji, Soi Fon and Byakuya are sitting in?"

"I never knew you were best friends with them."

"I call them any name I like, _Ulquiorra Schiffer_."

Ulquiorra set his novel aside and stood up. "In that case you should be better informed than I was. They are coming at four. You have six hours to give them a reason why they should replace you with a better actor."

"You mean I have six hours to give you a reason why I was selected by them," Ichigo smirked. He wasn't going to be thrown off by some unwarranted snide comments about his ability this time. He was definitely going to have the upper hand. He even went through the thesaurus every now and then to ensure his proficiency at intellectual insults.

"Is that a challenge?" asked Ulquiorra, the dangerous undertones in his voice surfacing. "Have you already forgotten what happened two weeks ago? Then again I wouldn't expect any less of you in that aspect."

"I-" Ichigo blushed despite his blasé attitude. There was no chance he would let the memory go to rot; it was too close for comfort. Each time he tried to sweep it away and flush it down the toilet bowl, the horrid happenings, like a humongous pile of crap, never went away, and no matter the buckets of water used it would remain there, stinking the whole room till nebula disintegrate. "I don't bother myself with petty losses. Unlike you I have much more important matters to attend to, rather than keep score of these trivialities."

"As often as not." Ulquiorra checked his watch, then reached for his knapsack. "You have exactly five hours and fifty-six minutes to stage a meaningful loss."

 

* * *

 

"I say we commence at the first scene," Ichigo flipped through his script, and said loudly from where he stood – directly opposite Ulquiorra. He was practically shouting; the room was no smaller than a proper conference room and he refused to budge from the other end. "The part where Murakami and Takamatsu first met at the bookstore." He was confident of performing brilliantly for that part, simply because it was the beginning. As for the rest, well, he ain't too certain; the mere thought of being intimate with Ulquiorra, albeit for professional purposes and solely that, made him come down with an imaginary case of the hives.

"Naturally you'd say that," Ulquiorra replied instantaneously; he felt as though he was partaking in some debate in a parallel universe. Normally he wouldn't answer back and he hadn't, given his notorious hermit existence on movie sets, but this orange haired man standing in another corner of the room made him almost compelled, or rather an instinctual urge to talk him down, and down, and further down until there was no ground. What had originated as an experiment to observe Ichigo's limits sprang to be an increasing portion of his personality and attitude toward said man. So much so Ulquiorra himself reckoned he was indeed more chatty these days, what with the numerous verbal trades and ferocious spars and the...he didn't foresee smooching the carrot top that early. Besides, it was accidental. "Begin, will you?"

"I was about to when you interrupted," Ichigo shot back crankily. "Someone should duct tape your mouth!"

"You look like you could use a push in the correct direction, impetuous _fruit_."

"I-" Ichigo stopped himself; it was pointless to carry on. He was out to prove his worth to the green eyed actor, not showcase his floundering linguistics in contrast to the other's lacerating wit, never mind the sickening pun on his name. "Edo Bookstore Scene One, Act Four," he yelled from his notes, "Takamatsu says..." and frowned at Ulquiorra, prompting him to recite his lines.

The green eyed man closed his script, took a deep breath, and soundlessly flicked a switch on. His usual monochromatic tone took on a life of its own, soaring and cheery. "Hello there," Ulquiorra said, his orbs shining in unfamiliar hues of diffidence. Ichigo thought the man quite a many step away was now a complete stranger, not that he wasn't bizarre to begin with, but the affable manner he projected was a total departure from who he really was. And the graceful transformation into his character was, to say the least, captivating. And he had only spoken _two_ miserable words.

"Not to disturb you, I merely passed by here and was just wondering if you have the following book by Jippensha Ikku? The title is Tokaidochu Hizakurige. Um, hello Sir? Are you listening? Are you..." Ulquiorra glanced over at Ichigo, awaiting his reply. There was none – Ichigo was busy exercising his brains. "Are you..." he cleared his throat – again Ichigo's consciousness wasn't retrieved.

"Are you..." Ulquiorra tried once more, then resumed his emotionless self. "It's your turn, in case you're stranded in a dimension of your own."

"Oh," Ichigo woke up from his self-induced stupor. "Yeah I know. Just don't bother me and do your own lines. It's none of your business, pasty faced pig."

"It's _your_ turn," Ulquiorra glared sharply. "We've only just begun and already you've shown marked improvements in your regression into an amoeba. Need a round of applause to complete your act? It's a shame you and Grimmjow aren't friends. But it's just a matter of time. Single-celled amoeba always join together. It's a circus."

" _Hey_ ," Ichigo angrily moved forward, then caught himself and hurriedly shuffled back to his spot. "Don't lump us together. I, unlike your cousin, have acting credentials to my name. And I didn't fare that poorly in school either. I was in the top twenty of my cohort for your information, scummy bug eyed prat! So what if you went to Waseda? You dropped out or quit or whatever anyway, so who are you to speak?"

"Top twenty," Ulquiorra mused. "Is that the best you can boast of yourself?"

"That's beside the point. Whoever said grades equates intelligence? Only judgmental ones like you came up with that crap. Rankings are overrated and utterly subjective to the ones who designed it! Now, will you, O Judge?" Ichigo bit his bottom lip when he was done ranting – he was unhappy he had fired off like a motormouth again. He had fallen into the devil's trap! He had succumbed to the evil ways of Ulquiorra, who deliberately wanted him to fail, so he could be replaced. No way was Ichigo going to allow that to happen. He had signed the contract, and would see to the end of the mutually agreed terms.

"It takes an egg to make the chicken," said the devil. "And it takes a chicken to make the egg."

"Enough!" Ichigo growled, and balled his aching fingers into fists, the skin stretched taut over knuckles, turning white in their suppressed fury. "Can we get this damn thing started?"

"Are you..." Ulquiorra went into acting mode without warning, and left his co-star in a colorful scape of buffoonery.

"Right right right, yes, I'm listening. You said you wanted Hizakurige?" Ichigo shut his eyes and jogged his memory. "I've heard of that titl-"

"You got it wrong. The emphasis of intonation on your lines is placed incorrectly," Ulquiorra criticized. "The sound ought to be more absentminded and gruff, instead you seem overly alert and helpful. Do it again."

"Why should I listen to you?" Ichigo was as obstinate as any mule worthed its melodic bray on the most splendid of days.

"I would if I were you, vampy boy!" A sleek silhouette appeared at the doorway, twirling a newsboy cap in one hand. "Ulquiorra didn't win Best Actor for his looks alone, am I right?"

"Hirako-san," Ulquiorra nodded a barely noticeable nod. "You came...early."

Shinji uncrossed his long legs, threw his cap on and approached Ichigo – he was nearer. "Yeah I did. Hiyori's running my errands, so I wound up with nothing but time on my hands, and here I am. You don't seem that pleased to see me, vampy boy!"

"Nah, I'm not. We were practising," Ichigo sulked. "And don't call me 'vampy _boy_ '."

"Sounds to me you two were in the middle of a productive discussion. Improving your dialogues in such an unique fashion. This and your equally stylish introduction of each other months ago. Very impressive. I kind of expected it in your blood, no pun intended, vampy _boy_ , but to think Ulquiorra actually _started_ it and then _reacted_ to the whole situation? How unprecedented! And it's very catchy – nobody could stop banging on and on about it, and needless to say, _heated_ ," Shinji hooked a slender arm around the young man's shoulders. "Really, _really_ heated. It makes me thrilled. Supercalifragilisticespialidociously thrilled."

 _'The director sounds like he has been acid-tripping,'_ Ulquiorra thought, amused. _'Either that or an excessive viewing of Mary Poppins.'_

"Been watching too much Julie Andrews lately? Or you been tripping on acid?" Ichigo remarked, causing Ulquiorra to swerve his head around in surprise.

Shinji grinned joyously and straightened his checkered vest. "None of those, please. I get high on jazz and malt whiskey. And my actors heating up the film rolls with their passion! Scathing, scorching, unbridled, wholesome, real, burning, _smoldering_ passion."

Ichigo coughed to hide his embarrassment, and Ulquiorra watched in interest as his co-star's expression grew more scandalized with every additional adjective thrown in for good measure.

"Gee, what are you thinking?" Shinji asked innocently. "I was talking about the amount of intensity actors need to inject into their character portrayals. Only this way can they bring them to life, transgressing from paper to celluloid! 2-D to 3-D! They need to find the link, one that the most talented of actors could do, which is to bridge the gap between audience and movie. Through that very one thing! Excellent acting. Sometimes having capable actors could salvage a mediocre production."

"Something was stuck in my throat," Ichigo lied.

"Of course something was stuck in your throat, vampy boy! Something had to be, otherwise how can we possibly explain the mystical origins of your coughing fit?" Shinji chuckled, then held Ulquiorra's gaze. "I'm sure he" - the blonde director proffered a finger at Ichigo - "was actually contemplating various methods to improve on the sexy scenes. He's just too shy to be honest with us-"

"Go ahead and act as if I'm not here," Ichigo interrupted, peeved.

Shinji disregarded the uninvited comment and continued. "Say, the co-ordination of your movements in a horizontal position. Even I have to admit doing them are never easy, much less with someone of the same sex. It takes a brand new level of acceptance and professionalism and imagination! But you are both males, there's nothing to hide. Not to besmirch you or anything, I still think it an admirable trait of yours, vampy boy. Ulquiorra, that's something new you learn about the hottest star in town, isn't it? So don't be too hard on poor vamp here, alright? This is the first time he's playing a human, with real feelings and real needs. No more bloodsucking each time _lust_ walks on by!"

"I don't understand a single word of what you're saying," denied Ichigo, his sloping cheeks stinging with splotches of red and pink, and absolutely refused all means of eye contact with the green eyed actor, who resisted an irresistible urge to walk out of the room and grab a cup of green tea.

"Relax!" Shinji patted the man's back soothingly. "I was only kidding. Heh. No need to get too serious with me, not until I shout 'Action!' anyways. Okay? This is the first time we'll be working together, and," he noted the overwhelming distance between both leading men, and with an effortless shove, sent Ichigo flying toward Ulquiorra like a mistimed bullet.

"I'd rather crash into the ground than you!" Ichigo cried as he skittered forward with arms flailing, and appeared destined to land directly in the stoic man's embrace, but Ulquiorra was and never will or even attempt to be anyone's - especially a particular Kurosaki Ichigo's - hero, hence he quickly stepped aside. He however, miscalculated Shinji's outstanding grip of trajectory motion, and moved in perfect accordance with Ichigo's blistering speed.

Sod's Law declared what can go wrong will go wrong, and wrong did everything go.

"That's more like it," Shinji laughed, and adjusted his cap. "You two should show more affection for each other, yes, just like _this_! Hugs work wonders, don't they?"

"Piss off!" Ichigo barked in Ulquiorra's face, making the man flinch as droplets of saliva sprayed all over. "I'd rather hug a train wreck and kiss the floor!"

"Be my guest," Ulquiorra pushed him away, but the orange haired actor still had his arms tightly wrapped around the former. "Let go of me, worthless prick."

Ichigo made a disgusted face and scootered back to his homely corner. "Yuck!" he exclaimed in mock horror, and acted like he was dosed in pig's snot all over.

"I subscribe to your high moral standards," Ulquiorra mirrored his co-star's actions, only less dramatic.

Elsewhere in the room, Shinji Hirako removed his cap, raked a hand through his pin straight locks, then massaged his temples. "I need some jazz."


	8. Shoot Me, Shoot You

Kurosaki Ichigo paced the length of his trailer for more rounds than one, mumbling noisily to himself, and literally driving himself up the wall. Official shooting was due that afternoon - it had already begun three weeks ago, but it was also the scene where Takamatsu and Murakami first met. He felt incredibly nervous, and the fact his green eyed co-star had been hideously demanding of him in the daily readings didn't make things any better.

The blonde director's invalidating efforts to have them reconcile their bizarrely fierce differences went quite the other way, and although Ulquiorra's interest in the orange haired star was inadvertently increasing, he hated to admit the sheer illogicality of it. He started dishing out biting comments because he wanted Ichigo to shut up and leave him alone, and now he was hooked, and didn't really want Ichigo to turn a blind eye to his responses. It was a sick kind of fun: watching Ichigo squirm under his deluge of heavy-handed insults, the carrot top stifling his burgeoning rage at being dissed, before finally let it all explode in some magnificent display of fireworks. It was predictable. The sequence was; the way he combusted wasn't. But Ulquiorra Schiffer was a brilliant actor - he was highly capable of disguising it in many ways.

And they hadn't even zoomed in on those scenes yet; it was a mere touch and go approach. It was confirmed earlier from a beaming Ichimaru Gin and a pleased Unohana Retsu that there would be all three of them, adapted tidily from the original novel. Ichigo couldn't imagine the actual day where they would have to act them out in excruciating detail; he was blushing as he read his dialogues, and blushed even harder when he heard Ulquiorra's emotionless voice take on a sensual turn. Of course the orange haired star made sure no one – which was hardly anyone, saw his embarrassed expression. He was supposed to be a worldly soon-to-be 23 year old with a starlet 'girlfriend', not some virginal, gawky teenager.

Shinji had insisted they start off on the right gear, which was to be civil towards each other, and Ulquiorra did tone down his maliciousness, but that was when the blonde director was present. When he had his back turned, Ulquiorra simply stared at Ichigo, his green eyes piercing and smug, to the point where the latter felt he had to retaliate. Skirmishes occurred there and then, but only the petty, verbal kind which was straight up Ulquiorra's alley. Ichigo, despite his keen following of the thesaurus, couldn't quite keep up. Which hence the green eyed man never fail to point out. Both did chose to be sensible for once, and kept their fists and legs to themselves; production was to commence and neither wanted to be spotted with discolored skin, not when the media was practically beating at the metal shutters and breathing down their necks for a sneaky snapshot.

"Move it!" Hiyori Sarugaki, an impudent blonde of 27, burst into his trailer and yelled the place down. She was the assistant director if one were to base her title on a name card, but in truth Shinji called her 'the director's assistant'. It was very much not to her liking, and the vociferous blonde was never afraid to show it: on him, or on anyone for the matter. Two bushy ponytails shook as she waved her arms about violently. "Kurosaki Ichigo! I said, move it!"

Ichigo jumped. "It's noon already?"

"Get onto the set now! We're going to roll any minute," Hiyori checked her watch, then blabbered at a breakneck speed. "Is your makeup and hair intact? Need some touch up? Your costume good?"

"Yeah all's good," Ichigo replied. "And..."

"What?" Hiyori snapped. "Move it!"

"Is it true that midgets have loud voices?"

Hiyori answered by giving him a hard shove out the door.

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra was going through the entire scene in his head, closing his eyes as he did, and imagined every single word to be recited, every single action to be carried out, every single interaction between the characters involved. He was that professional and precise, and prior to having his makeup done and wig fixed and black nail varnish removed, he examined the set thoroughly, and pictured himself in the moment - in the late Edo period, tumultuous and a time where he was no longer himself - Ulquiorra Schiffer the much silent and unemotional film actor. He was not to have the cold dead eyes of an assassin. He was now Takamatsu Soujiro, the only son of a renowned family in the court, and an acclaimed member of the Shinsengumi elite. He was an introverted yet affable young man who barely skipped past adulthood, loyal to his friends and loved ones, witty, thoughtful and sincere, but in the depths of intellect and exemplary fighting skills attained lurked emptiness.

The raven haired man uncapped his bottle and took a large swig of water. He gargled the liquids in his mouth, giving his cheek muscles a good stretch. Giving his wig one last tug to make sure it was in place, he opened the door and stepped out of his trailer.

Ulquiorra Schiffer was absolutely nothing like the character he was about to depict five minutes from now.

 

* * *

 

"Actors, get into position!" cried Hiyori, as she scampered about the movie set. Unlike Soi Fon she bore no need for a loudhailer. Her natural speaking voice was by all means, spectacular. "Last minute touch ups anyone?" There was no response. "Okay, great!" she clapped a singular clap, grabbed the movie board from a staff member, then moved it into position, before the exact locale where filming was to unfold. It was the first scene where the future lovers met, at a bookstore in Edo, 1867. The set was an identical replica of the architecture then, and as seen in historical photographs. It had many wooden structures, most of which were painted a stark white and black. The set designer thought it best represented the 'sinister undertones and disparaging political sentiment' of that period. Shinji and Byakuya agreed too.

"Everyone good?" Shinji shook an idle leg from where he sat - on his huge, comfortable, director's seat. Everyone nodded eagerly. The blonde director adjusted some knobs on his camera, then flashed a toothy grin and a thumbs up. "OK! Over to you, Shortie."

"Go to hell!" Hiyori snapped. She was the only one who dared answer him that way, and everyone knew they had a history together. Not necessarily that type of history that springs up in people's minds whenever 'people' and 'history' are linked together, and though there was a possibility it could be, there was the irrefutable fact that they once bathed together. When he was 8 and she was 5. Those were innocent days, Shinji had reminisced. They went a long way back, and had came a long way since then. "Okay now, Ulquiorra and Ichigo, it's time!" she frowned like she had never frowned before, making her eyebrows drown into each other.

Ulquiorra closed his eyes briefly, and silently counted to ten. Ichigo simply frowned in return and raised his voice above the usual pitch:

"Bring it on."

 _'Did his voice crack in there?'_ thought Ulquiorra, evilly.

"Bravo, vampy," Shinji grinned again. "We're set to roll!"

Hiyori held up the clapper. "Autumn Chrysalis, Scene Thirteen - Edo Main Street, Act One, Take One..." pairs of eyes were locked on the movie board, before the clapper clamped down like the eruption of earth. "Action!"

 

* * *

 

**SCENE: A main market street in Edo, 1867 (Act One)**

 

A bird's eye view of the sombre looking street, its main palette consists of earthy colors. The street ways are narrow, and made messy with numerous settlements. There is a rustic peace prevalent in the regular street bustle, and animal-driven wagons throng past stationary people at regular intervals. The sun is about to set, casting a hazy embrace over the townsfolk and their activities.

Takamatsu Soujiro (Ulquiorra) is wandering down the street lined with stalls of various industries. He is a young man of 21, illustrious in his own right and intelligent. His dressing – a proper, tidy ensemble of stiff, silk _hakama_ with black and white stripes. He has a black _montsuki kimono_ on, but unlike the usual, it bears no family crests. His clothes fit perfectly well and are so new that they almost glisten – a sign of one born with luxuries. He stops to look at some trinkets, holds one up with interest, smiles briefly at the owner. He hardly comes to this street, and it is only on days free from obligatory duties that he has the time to venture a visit. He puts it down, and looks with interest at another. He pays for it and continues to make his way about.

The street is vibrant with life, and elsewhere in the center of the market square is a performance troupe. A curious Takamatsu walks toward the crowd. Hordes of people surround the attraction in rippling circles, enraptured with the show, but hesitating to dip into their pockets when an empty tin is passed around. These are the ordinary townsfolk, clad in cheap cloths. Some are freshly scrubbed. Some have dirtied faces. They hurriedly disperse and return to where they come from. The tin reaches Takamatsu, and he retrieves a silk pouch from his navy blue _montsuki haori_ , and donates generously. He then walks away, and notices the sun setting.

 

* * *

 

**SCENE: Bookstore, Edo (Act Two)**

 

Murakami Yoshihito (Ichigo), now 21, is talking to a book merchant. He has on a brown yukata with black patches on the underarm and navel areas, and dons a pair of _waraji_. The straps are worn out, and his toes protrude slightly over the front edge. His voice is animated and tone overly casual, indicating he is of hardly any mentionable status in society. He is regular folk. His lightly tanned face is contorted in some snarl as he battles the heat outside.

Book Merchant: Oi Yoshi-chan, where's Endou-san? - beckons his helper to offload the stockpiles of books onto the shop floor -

Murakami: Call me Yoshi-chan, and you old fart won't see what I can't do. - a roguish grin - Old Man's outside doing some grocery shopping.

Book Merchant: Old fart already, I am. Give it up on the tough samurai facade, will you, Yoshi-chan? It's a hassle to look at, and deal with all the time. - leans in for a whisper - Does Endou-san know you're calling him an Old Man behind his back? He's rather sensitive to this, I hear.

Murakami: - laughs - Of course not. What, I'm not believable as a samurai? Tch! - jumps onto the wooden cart and helps to offload the books -

Book Merchant: I imagine them to be much more ferocious. And you are just a pussy in the court of tigers. A baby pussy. Either that or a fox pretending to own the kingdom of animals cowering in fright. And the reason why they're frightened of him is not him, but the tiger trailing silently behind.

Murakami: Sometimes I hate it when you're right, you old fart. - hops down from the cart and dusts his hands - How much, this lot of books?

Book Merchant: Endou-san's entrusted you with the funds now? Not too bad, you uncouth lad from the North. - he grins to show missing front teeth – 6000 yen in all.

Murakami hands him the money, and mockingly shoos him out the shop with meaningless kicks.

 

* * *

 

**SCENE: Main market street in Edo (Act Four)**

 

Depicts Takamatsu heading out of a bookstore. He looks resigned, and scans the vicinity for more bookstores. Waits for a horse-driven wooden cart to pass, before crossing over to the adjacent street. The street is starting to empty.

\- cuts away to the bookstore where Murakami works in -

Murakami is unpacking bundles of books. It is summer, and the sweltering weather has him huffing and puffing.

Murakami: What on earth is wrong with this knot? - tugs hard at a thick, white rope used to tie the heavy stack together -

He decides to give up after some struggle, and rests against the wall.

Murakami: While Old Man is outside shopping for some chicken to be skinned, I guess I should catch a quick nap after recording these titles down. Ain't it sure hot! 'Tis insane weather! - continues to fan self with a grubby towel, then rolls up his sleeves and resumes work on tackling the knot -

Takamatsu enters the bookstore quietly, looks about, and walks between some bookshelves. He doesn't see Murakami, who is squatting down. The shelves are old and scraped in some corners. They house a huge volume of books.

Takamatsu: - murmurs to himself - Tokaidochu Hizakurige... - thumbs through the spines of the books - Tokaidochu...

He is seen searching for a while, before giving in to blurry sight. He approaches the counter, where he sees Murakami for the first time. The latter's back is shown facing him. He is slightly taken aback by the man's bright mop of hair. He places both hands on the aged, brown counter. The edges are crumbling with sawdust.

Takamatsu: Hello there.

Murakami doesn't hear him, and continues to work hard at undoing the knot.

Takamatsu: Not to disturb you, I merely passed by here and was just wondering if you have the following book by Jippensha Ikku? The title is Tokaidochu Hizakurige. - he receives no response - Um, hello Sir? Are you listening? - still there is no response - Are you-

Murakami sharply wheels around. His face is drenched with perspiration.

Murakami: Right right right, yes, I'm listening. - impatient - You said you wanted Hizakurige?

Takamatsu nods, and smiles lightly.

Murakami: You need it urgently? - narrows his eyes - 'Cause if you do, it's right at the bottom of this offending stack. - jabs a forefinger at the pile -

Takamatsu: - glimpses the pile and the difficult knot - I'd appreciate it if I could have the book today.

Murakami: Well, I'd appreciate it if I could give the book to you today too. But – manipulative look enters his eyes – well...the knot is proving to be a massive hindrance toward my intention – looks Takamatsu up and down, astounded at how nicely dressed he is, and how refined he seems – of not inconveniencing your academic needs.

Takamatsu: The knot? If I untie it for you, could I have the book today?

Murakami: Of course. - slides to the side – Why don't you come in and do it right away?

Takamatsu brushes past him, and Murakami couldn't help but stare a little at the layers of clothing he has on.

Murakami: You can withstand this crazy heat like nobody. I sure can't. Not even if I sell my body for ice and water.

Takamatsu: We all have our different strengths. Winter gets to me, however.

Murakami: Winter's nothing but child's play! - snorts, then peers closely into Takamatsu's eyes - I sure ain't know many around here, who have eyes as green as yours.

Takamatsu: I sure don't know many around here, or from where I hail, and I don't frequent this place either, who have hair as cheery as yours. - holds up the knot and scrutinizes it -

Murakami: - grins - Say, you from a nice family? You dress properly and nicely. Quite unlike the oafs who come by here for these cheap – makes a disgusted face – watercolor drawings of naked people. And the knot ranks among the most difficult things I've ever encountered in my life.

Takamatsu: The knot? - turns around to laugh - Clothes don't make a man.

Murakami: - laughs too - Sorry. I'm not quite well-versed in the ways of man yet. And...uhmm...and...uhmm...uh...

 

* * *

 

" _ **Cut!"**_ Shinji shouted. "You forgot your lines, vampy boy!"

Ichigo pointed an accusing finger at his co-star. "Gee, the sight of Ulquiorra Schiffer laughing threw me off!"

Ulquiorra almost rolled his eyes. "It wasn't me there."

"Then who was it? Your spirit?" Ichigo shot back. "Anyway your laugh sounded too happy for my liking!"

"I was about to change my reigning perception of you, and that was if, and only _if_ , we could get through this entire scene without a single disruption. But it was not to be," said Ulquiorra, stonily. "You're a waste of time, and an insult to this profession, if you can't differentiate between real and reel."

"Says who? You sure didn't do any of those during the readings! Smiling, then laughing! What the hell! So I was caught unawares! And what's wrong with a second take? Not everyone's Mister Perfect like you."

"I was about to mention how your intonation and pitch have improved barely, but your attitude should see you off the set anytime."

"You...!"

"Please, guys, quit it." Shinji placed his palms together. "Take your quarrels outside, not here. And Ulquiorra, it's alright to do second takes, although I know it's hardly to your liking, but sometimes we have to accommodate others."

Ichigo looked smug. "Hear, hear!"

Shinji threw the orange haired star a funny look. "It was surprisingly a decent take, save for the final fumble. The chemistry was however, quite," he scratched the back of his head, "in need of some improvements. But it's OK. We have time-"

"We do NOT!" Hiyori grumbled. "Time is money, and money is time! The faster we finish, the more time we can take to refine the filming process!"

"Shortie, that sounds scarily wrong. You sure you're in the right industry?" Shinji jibed, and gobbled down a half bottle of water, then hastily capped the bottle when he noticed Hiyori removing her slipper. "Break time's over, guys! We're all set to roll again!"

 

* * *

 

**SCENE: Bookstore, Edo (Act Four, Take Four)**

 

Takamatsu: - turns around to laugh - Clothes don't make a man.

Murakami: - laughs too - Sorry. I'm not quite well-versed in the ways of man yet. And the rope is no match for your hands, obviously. - dryly -

Takamatsu: It wasn't too difficult. - sets the rope aside - You mentioned the book is in this pile?

Murakami: If it's not, then it's the next pile. - motions to another thick pile beside the untied stack of books – or maybe it's the next. Or the next, or the next. I have a list here though. But it's not arranged properly. - shrugs - And the knots are getting a little out of hand lately...

Takamatsu: - smiles discreetly - I understand.

Murakami: You do?

Takamatsu: And I hope you understand that I carry no more than 100 yen with me at the moment.

Murakami: Are you serious? - horrified look - Tokaidochu Hizakurige doesn't come cheap! You must be joking!

Takamatsu: Yes, but so were you.

Murakami: - falls silent; aware he has been dealt a brief prank - Okay, okay. You got me there. _Almost._

Takamatsu: Thank you. - smile grows wider; Murakami finds himself grinning in return - Why don't I teach you, and you can handle the rest? It's not getting any early either.

Murakami: Right. - copies Takamatsu's nifty movements - Heading back to your family? Where do you live anyway? Sounds like some distance away from here.

Takamatsu: The capital city. - undoes the knot easily - But the stores there don't really stock up on classical comics such as this. Hence I decide to try my luck here today. What about you?

Murakami: - loosens a knot successfully; seems delighted – Me? I, uh, I...

 

* * *

 

"Should we stop? I think Ichigo forgot his lines again," Hiyori whispered. Shinji shook his head. "I think the awkward pause is appropriately dramatic. The pause highlights his remembrance of his hometown."

 

* * *

  

Murakami: I... - looks downcast briefly (Ichigo struggled to remember the rest of the sentence) – live upstairs.

Takamatsu nods in response, and begins to search for his book amid the untied piles. Murakami helps too. After some moments of rustling and some brash throwing of the books onto the floor, they find it.

Murakami: Next time I'll warn that old geezer not to place it at the bottom of the final stack. It's a hazard!

Takamatsu: It's just a lack of fortune on my part. - retrieves his silk pouch - How much do you charge for the book?

Murakami: It's... - checks the pricing board - 250 yen. But hey, I think you and me got some sort of weird affinity. You're the first one to get back at me, well, not really, but that comeback was damn right proper! - beams -

Takamatsu: That's weird indeed. I was just thinking along the same tangent. - takes out a 500 yen note -

Murakami: Hey, that's too much! 200 is enough. - pauses - Nice money holder by the way.

Takamatsu: - smiles - I was counting on you for the change.

Murakami: - aware he has been pulled a fast one again - Nice wit of yours. Are you some court official's son or something? Either that or a court jester.

Takamatsu: I don't really see the link.

Murakami: I'm not trying to intrude on your privacy or something, you know. It's fine if you don't say a word. - hands him the change – We hardly know each other. And I'm not trying to be over friendly with you because I think you're rich or something and own nice things or anything.

Takamatsu: You jump easily to conclusions, don't you?

Murakami: - red faced - I-

 

* * *

 

 _ **"Cut!"** _ Shinji shouted. "Someone apply some blush on Ichi-kun's cheeks! He looks like a friggin' ghost under all that light!"

 

* * *

 

**SCENE: Bookstore, Edo (Act Four, Take Eight)**

 

Takamatsu: You jump easily to conclusions, don't you?

Murakami: - red faced - I don't!

Takamatsu: If it comforts you, you're the first stranger whom I've chatted with and exceeds ten syllables. However I would prefer to be a closed book at times. - takes the book and smiles at Murakami - I have to get going.

Murakami: - waves a flimsy hand - Bye, and the name's Murakami!

Takamatsu: Bye. - slaps a 50 yen note on the counter before Murakami could say a word, and steps out of the store -

Murakami: Drop by again!

He is left staring at the store's entrance, then shakes his head, as if erasing some thoughts.

 

* * *

 

"Cut!" Shinji called out. "Good take!"

"Are we done for the day?" Ichigo asked, swiping away the angry blush dabbed on his cheeks. Some of the powder fell onto Ulquiorra's costume, and he wasn't too pleased about that. He cleared his throat and glared hard at his co-star.

"Now what, Ulquiorra Schiffer?" Ichigo resumed his mannerisms reserved specially for the man. "Are you going to pretend to be on the verge of complimenting me, then end it with some staggeringly high level insult and have me thrown off the set? It's getting stale!"

"No need to be too high strung when acting," said Ulquiorra, innocent as a bunny. He opted for a change of strategy this time, and peered closely at Ichigo, acting as if he was ill. "I understand it's been the eighth take for one scene, but don't let it get you down."

Ichigo flushed an unnatural pink at seeing those previously glinting emerald orbs this close up. He recalled how Ulquiorra, no wait, that was Takamatsu, smiling at him, and thought how sweet it actually looked on the normally inexpressive countenance of his. _'Pasty faced pig ought to do that more,'_ thought Ichigo, then speedily deleted what his mind had just announced when he realized the sheer ridiculousness of it.

Shinji bopped over, toothy grin in place. "Yeah, Ulquiorra's right! It's been a week since this has started, and I gotta say you ain't faring too poorly!"

"Thanks, Smiley."

"Smiley? When did I beco-"

"Just," said Ichigo. He was surly as a nightclub bouncer.

 

* * *

 

A month had since passed, and Autumn Chrysalis was filmed in bits and pieces, alongside the necessary cutbacks to the increasing turmoil lurking within the Imperial government and its samurai clans. Then it was back to the core material: Takamatsu's and Murakami's interactions with each other, and their progressive relationship. It was moving along slowly, but steadily, a stream of water flowing along flat plains, never knowing where it would end up, but just round the corner, lay a steep cliff, where water gushed down with immeasurable velocity.

"You know what I was thinking?" asked Shinji, leaning against the steel railing. He shifted his gaze onto Ulquiorra, who relaxed against a statue. They were having a lunch break together, and both men were fast eaters.

"The lack of chemistry between him and me?" asked Ulquiorra, to Shinji's question. "It's hard to build that up with him."

"You really are allergic to his name," Shinji laughed. "Man, what happened between Ichi-kun and you? You two hate the hell outta each other's guts! Even though you best tried not to show it, it comes out in your performance, y'know? I look at the filmed scenes everyday, every second, so trust me, I know well enough to comment. You being you, of course the standard is there. But I can't help but feel it could be much better. Given it's you especially. The current takes we have are alright, efficiently depicted and as of now, they don't require much strenuous emotions in the way. In fact the level of awkwardness, and consciousness is just about right. You guys," the blonde pounded a fist against the steel, then winced. "However, know how the story turns out. You gotta find the link with him! And I'm telling you this, and only you, because I trust you have the ability to exert the correct influence over vampy boy. Top actors always bring out the best in their co-stars, and having worked with you before, I believe you can do that."

"I don't hate him," Ulquiorra quipped. "He's not worth the time."

"Then you're doing a terrific job of not hating him, but behaving as if you are out to carve his insides out, then covering that up because after all you aren't hating on him," countered Shinji. Back in his college years he was a relatively famous poker player. He was renowned for playing with the minds of many. "Personality clash then, I presume?"

Ulquiorra looked straight at the blonde director. "Why him in the first place?"

"It's your fault, Ulquiorra-san!" chastised the director. "I sent an email to you, seeking your attendance for the final round of audition, but you didn't reply!"

"You did?" Ulquiorra couldn't remember if that was true or false. "I was-"

"You were in Barcelona then, doing some promotional work for your previous movie. Oh, I called your agent, and he said he'd get back to me too. But he never, and I was left waiting like a hopeless fool stranded in the rain, with an umbrella that has spoiled hinges and refuses to open."

"You can never trust Grimmjow too much, Hirako-san," Ulquiorra offered a tiny smile as a belated apology. "If he was unanimously chosen by the four of you, then why is he still putting in lackadaisical displays?"

Shinji tapped his unending fingers against the railing dramatically, as if they were keys on a grand piano. "Don't be too strict with Ichi-kun! He is working hard on them. Look. He doesn't forget his lines twice as much as he initially did. Although I agree with you on one point. That his facial expressions need some working on. But I think the way he handles his lines, those unexpected pauses-"

"He was trying to recall them."

"-but it was authentic! You can feel the earnestness pouring out from him. The strong urge to do good, to improve, the truest side of a young man finding his place in the world, and coming to terms with staking it! That was probably what won us all over during the auditions. Because that's the essence of his character! Don't give me that dirty look. Even Unohana-sensei agreed. Give him a proper chance, would you? He's a fast learner, although he seldom listens to you. Don't get me wrong, your advice is excellent, but he just doesn't want to listen. To you. When I repeat the same things you said, he pays heed. Sheesh. I ought to send you both down for some proper counseling," Shinji halted when Ulquiorra punctured his complexion with a prickly death glare. "OK. In any case, helping out your co-star could only benefit yourself, y'know? More communication with him would go a long way, I'm sure. Vampy Ichi-kun's like a little child bursting with talent but doesn't know how to get around it. You can be the perfect mentor! Imagine him thanking you when he wins some award! Imagine the both of you turning it on! It makes the movie much more viewable, and engrossing. And when the movie's good, everyone gets a slice of the glory pie! If it's excellent then the pie is enlarged and so does one's slice! Think of it as more awards coming your way, or a greater paycheck."

"I couldn't care less about that."

"Come on! We've worked together once, and you wouldn't want to see my namesake disappearing down the 9 levels of hell! Besides, our Ichi-kun," Shinji paused mysteriously, then resumed with a cheeky sparkle in his grin, "he's easy on the eyes. _Real_ easy."

"Not the hair." Ulquiorra turned one side. "Certainly not his calibre either."

"I bet you'd be thanking me and offering me vinyl jazz tapes when you engage in lovemaking with him."

"Why should I? And I hope you don't mean it for real," Ulquiorra shuddered imperceptibly. He knew the explicitness of those cursed scenes from the novel, and was rubbed in his face more than once about the potential R rating Autumn Chrysalis was set to earn.

"Of course I mean on screen," Shinji Hirako said, teasingly. "Don't think naughty thoughts, Ulquiorra-san."

"You're alone on that."

"Ah, well...let's see. He's not ranked first in 'Top 20 Most Desirable Male Celebrities in Japan' for nothing," said Shinji Hirako. "And you came in fourth. The most recent online survey on Oricon said so."

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra's ears were wrung out dry from Shinji's smooth persuasion, not just the day before, but yesterday too, and today. Not just during lunch breaks, but dinners as well. Shinji's herculean pleads for Ulquiorra to better treat Ichigo were bordering on the excessive and the obsessive alike. The raven haired actor was no fraudulent man, neither was he the most scrupulous. Both Ichigo's lack of talent (according to Ulquiorra) and Shinji's preachings were driving him insane, day by day, night by night. And sometimes he woke up in the dead seconds where nocturne thrived, covered in cold shivers. He dreamed Shinji nailed him to a tree and each time he refused to think of Ichigo as his equal, he received an extra hammering and a rusty nail. It gave him tetanus.

 

* * *

 

"Woh," Grimmjow rang the bell several times, and nearly choked when he saw Ulquiorra's paler than usual face popping up at the door. "Wassup? Your pet kitty died or something? You look like shit. Don't let the endorsing companies see you like this, you boring bastard. They're going to cancel your contracts and I'll be left with nothing but shit. Then I'm going to sell your luxurious apartment for compensation, and I'd take kitty along. I can't leave her with a good-for-nothing like you. Where's she?"

"She's upstairs, and can you just go away," said Ulquiorra, tetchily. The nightmares had him up and awake, and it wasn't till 5am that he managed to grab some relieving rest. And he had to wake up 2 hours later, because his pet kitten pawed at the soles of his feet. He was extremely ticklish.

"I'm here to chauffeur you to the set, in case you decide to run away from home. You forgot your emo lines, bastard!" Grimmjow grabbed his cousin's arm roughly, and dragged him to the bathroom. "You look shittily normal, and that bothers me. Greatly. It's worse than when some fucking ass tells me my favorite comb is no longer available on the market."

Ulquiorra bit his lower lip in an attempt to refrain from laughing. "You can always travel outside of Japan. And the last time I was at your place, I saw boxes of them-"

Grimmjow looked shell shocked. "Why the fuck were you there?!"

"-hidden under your bed. Congratulations, Grimmjow. You've singlehandedly kept alive a sunset industry."

"Oh cousin _dearest_ ," the strapping blue haired man's voice dripped with sarcasm, "go take a flying fuck at the wash basin," he slammed the bathroom door shut and waited outside. "Go take a flying fuck at the toilet bowl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> montsuki haori: a traditional mid-length coat worn over kimonos
> 
> waraji: sandals made from straw rope


	9. A Tale Of Two Novels: Part One

Kurosaki Ichigo had a copy of Autumn Chrysalis. It was thoroughly manhandled, and read from head to toe so many times, that the pages grew stale and their crispness destroyed. He had purchased the thickest version available, because the font would be larger and spaces between lines wide. He intended to scribble down ideas and criticism on them, make productive notes on his 'awful intonation and pitch', then improve upon them.

He still didn't like Ulquiorra one bit - the green eyed man sat on a throne high above his, and didn't care for anything. But Ulquiorra was a perfectionist, and whatever fault he found with Ichigo's readings he would never hesitate to point it out. So in an offbeat sense, Ulquiorra Schiffer did care. And secretly the orange haired star appreciated his frank comments, but he had his pride, and boy, wouldn't he look a right loser if he were to succumb? He already did once - the sweetcorn incident. It made him extremely wary of the silent, tear-streaked man.

And things were set on staying the way they were, until Ichigo started seeing plumes of pink cloud evading the man's silhouette whenever he was in character as the very likable and charming Takamatsu. His co-star's portrayal hit a perfect home run, and sometimes Ichigo saw double.

Once, he almost called Ulquiorra 'Takamatsu-kun', and nearly shat his pants when he observed there was a ring to his mind's voice. It sounded spooky and contained many shades of familiarity.

_'Kurosaki-kun!'_

Twice he witnessed the erasing of those bizarrely ugly tear tracks from Ulquiorra's pale face, leaving it utterly devoid of makeup, and thought the raven haired man looked a thousand times better. Then he had to uncharacteristically smile and laugh those melodic light titters when cameras rolled, and Ichigo felt his concentration slipping away. He made a mess of his lines several times, chuffing them stupidly. It provided additional basis for the green eyed prick's sharp insults. And it so happened Ulquiorra had to smile a zillion dazzling smiles during his takes, thus effectively skewing the distressed hotshot's concept of real and reel, and blurring the distinction between.

 

* * *

 

According to Ulquiorra himself, he told no lies when acting.

 

* * *

 

Ichigo confided in the one who knew him best, that he was starting to feel seriously uncomfortable around Ulquiorra. Not just the 'Shut up before I wallop your ass' type of discomfort, but also the 'Will you quit smiling at me with your brilliant eyes' kind floating in. Nowadays it gradually became the 'I can't help but stare at you openly on the set' type, and poor Ichigo hadn't known he was actually doing so before he realized it. Hence Ichigo concluded, with his 12 years of schooling, that he was only troubled by the inkling of unabashed admiration for the man's talent. That had to be it, and absolutely nothing else but that.

"Yeah _right_ ," said Renji, and threw a half-eaten peanut at Ichigo. "Deluded beyond words, you are."

"Like I said, I was only envious of his stupid talent. In Kendo, in acting, in debating even. He was even accepted into Waseda Medical School! Whatever the flipping hell," Ichigo caught the peanut and ate it. "Yep, that must be it."

"Envious...ha ha ha," Renji snorted, fished another lump of peanuts, then spread them across the round table top. "You're having a laugh on me, friend!"

Ichigo stopped and stared, before getting up menacingly. The sofa squelched under the sudden release in weight. "Come again?"

"Chill!" Renji raised both hands defensively. "What I meant was," the redhead paused, and worked his jaws on a peanut. "You know those actors who end up falling in love with their co-stars, don't play dumb, Ichi, these stories happen all the time! And yeah, anyway, they usually break up when the set breaks up, ha ha ha, you know, that kind of situation?"

Ichigo nodded dumbly, and settled back into the sofa. "Heard of them."

"I think you're them," Renji closed his eyes sagely.

"What the fooken' hell?!"

"Methinks you're crushing on your co-star's character."

"No way, crazy mofo! I felt nothing when I read the bloody novel."

"Oh you big fat liar! You blushed like there's no tomorrow when you read the hmm, hmm, hmmmmm parts," Renji accused. "Thee grand 3-piece orchestra of monkey sex."

Ichigo's cheeks and ears were frighteningly red. "So would anyone!"

"Okay, I did," Renji admitted. "I re-read them too."

"See?"

"It made me develop unwanted thoughts toward you sometimes, Ichi," said Renji, and popped another peanut into his wolfish grin.

"Shit...! You stay the heck away from me!" Ichigo gasped, and huddled into a ball.

"Sure. I was just waiting for the green light to flash."

"...bastard."

"But Ulquiorra," Renji wiped away his drool, "is a very fine actor. So I don't blame you at all, Ichi. Like me, you're just a 'Bat Boy' after all."

Bat Boy was a term reserved for diehards of Ulquiorra Schiffer. To smear salt on an open wound and have it rubbed into the mingled flesh, Kurosaki Isshin proudly called himself that whenever the stoic man's movies came up on television. It peeved Ichigo to no end. It was even worse than 'The Strawberries', as his own fans deemed themselves to be. That easily spoke volumes of Ulquiorra's fan affiliation, and apparently Ulquiorra never acknowledged their existence. He consistently claimed he couldn't see them, hence the aforementioned statement. His fans however, were true to their nickname, and being batty, praised the world out of their idol's invincibly cool attitude.

"I'm gonna get a shaver and turn you into a bald monk," Ichigo threatened. He stormed toward Renji, and swiped the empty shells onto the latter's lap. It was a petty crime between old time buddies.

"Bloody ass!" the redhead swept the crusty shells onto the carpet. "Make sure the press doesn't get wind of your embarrassing little teenager's crush on a book character. Remember your image, shithead! Remember your _contract_!"

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra Schiffer's copy of Autumn Chrysalis was thoroughly manhandled, and read from head to toe so many times, that the pages grew stale and their crispness destroyed. Unlike Ichigo's case, he wasn't the culprit. It was Grimmjow, his fiery cousin, who grappled for the book whenever he was ignored in favor of said novel. Ulquiorra preferred to read than be anywhere near Grimmjow, and he presumed it an universal preference. Grimmjow, ever headstrong and above his cousin's persistently contemptuous display, never would allow a mere book to defeat him, and sometimes when Ulquiorra was busy feeding his pet kitten, he would take it upon himself to furnish the pages with 'artistic elaboration'. He was glad Ulquiorra had purchased the thickest version available, because the font would be larger and spaces between lines wide. They were clean.

Until Grimmjow got his itchy paws on a pencil.

 

* * *

 

Regarding the issue of onscreen nudity, here was what Shinji had to say:

"It'd be ideal actually, for two naked bodies to tumble together in the hay. Men or not; it's the very pinnacle of pure passion! Nothing quite screams sensual innocence like two lambs bleating at each other on the pastures. Reality bites however, and there already was an agreement beforehand from both representing agencies of our leading men, that the furthest they could go is to strip down to their underpants. No naughty parts are to hang out. Not even if the actors are more than willing to have them take a breather. It's the power of the contract."

"Who the heck does sex with _those_ on?" Hiyori squawked in confusion. Everyone else either flushed prettily or pretended not to listen. "And what's a R rating without full on nudity?"

"Technique, my dear Snagtooth, it's the technique. Besides it's make believe. That's why it's called acting. And it's the themes that earned the movie this rating. A bit harsh, I know," said Shinji. "Then again, in order to court the searing heat of two men passionately in love, we have the combined brain torque of Ishida-san and yours truly."

Ishida Uryuu appeared with a pair of spandex underpants. "After some unprecedented breakthrough in material engineering, and insights taken from professional AV actors, we came up with this," announced Ishida, and he held up the underpants. Everyone oohed and ahhed. It was flesh colored, and had heavy padding on the crotch area. It enhanced one's package. It also meant being spared from public humiliation if one were to be crudely aroused.

"Marvelous work, ain't it?" asked Shinji, after a thunderous round of applause.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in early August, leading members of the 'Autumn Chrysalis' production were to attend a charity ball to raise funds for orphanages all over Japan. There were many other celebrities involved, and then there were everyone's regular socialites and popular models striding down the red carpet, each trying to outdo the other with exorbitant jewelries and latest fashions fresh from seasonal catwalks.

"You look incredible, Kurosaki-kun," said Orihime, his date for the ball. A camera flashed in her giddy face, and like all others before them on the lushly wide walkway she stopped to serenade photographers with her best angle. She was a highly sought after model, and began this unexpected career when she was scouted on the streets of Tokyo. She was 16 then. Inoue Orihime did gigs for local fashion houses, owning the catwalks in Tokyo, and also the very lucrative advertisements and pictorials for numerous magazines. Within a space of months her girlish mien was splashed across billboards, and her curvaceous, womanly body was the talk of many. She became Queen of a court ruled by lechers and geeks. They worshiped the tight bodice wrapped around her body and commercial-friendly strands. Men hit the pavement with blood gushing from their noses when a commemorative issue of 'SPICE' magazine called for the strategic unveiling of her top. Her manager hit the ceiling however, and immediately thought of all means and variances of furthering her burgeoning fame. He was greedy, and Orihime was his valuable cash cow. With twitchy mouse whiskers and a cunning countenance in place, he began sifting through hordes of tabloid magazines. Then he found the latest rising star, created a proposal - a win-win situation, hence the pact was sealed and an interminable contract of 2 years. 13 months had since passed, and money poured in like glaciers in Antarctica. How they poured and froze and grew in the accounts of the effected!

Inoue Orihime had always wanted a strong, handsome, talented, chivalrous, roguish man-boy to bring home to her parents, and being pious as how an 18 year old is, she protested the manager's wily scheme. But everything hopped into the garbage bin when she embarked on her 'first date' with the then rising young star. She was smittened with him after only ten minutes.

Ichigo struggled against the stiffness of his ironed, and re-ironed wine red suit. It made him look smart, stylish, and as calm as Ulquiorra Schiffer. Nothing defined tapered luxury like Italian designer garb. Orihime's dress was black and silkily sexy. It had a corset top, a fitting rear, and ended with sweeping pleats. "You too, Inou-I mean, Orihime. Nice gown. Looks resplendent-"

Another flashlight went off in their faces. And another. And another. It made them as blind as mice. Then the crowd screamed crazily when Japan's hottest young male star tossed a careless grin their way.

"-on you. Valentino, is it?" Ichigo grimaced. He was bad at these designer stuff. He couldn't even recall the name of the designer who loaned him his suit.

Orihime flicked her curled tresses over her shoulder. "Dolce and Gabbana."

 

* * *

 

The world was small, and a world based around the red carpet was smaller even. It was Fate's oyster. When Ichigo spun around with Orihime in tow, Ulquiorra Schiffer appeared. He was by himself, certainly, and ignored glittery flash bulbs and fanatical cries for his attention. He gave away none, and went about his way, wishing to enter the ballroom in the fastest time possible, and did so until there in the road before him stood a pair of orange roadblocks. So he waited: when Ichigo noticed his presence, and when Ichigo scanned him inside out with mock interest.

"Hello, Ulquiorra-san," Orihime greeted. Her motto in life was to be kind whenever possible. She was a nice, decent girl set to step into glamorous adulthood in a dainty, knee-breaking pair of red Manolo Blahniks.

Ulquiorra stared directly through her, and focused on his co-star. "Move."

"You look like a walking corpse!" exclaimed Ichigo. He was having an 'Eureka!' moment. "The dark blue blazer brings out the sallowness in your cheeks. The gray dress shirt makes you look like a dowdy idiot from the 1800s. Your shoes are so brown you may have as well stepped on dung on your way here. You're putting the designer to shame, whoever he or she might be! And then," he jabbed a ringed finger at Ulquiorra's famous facial lines. "You're two months early for Halloween, my co-star! The poin-"

The bug eyed glare of a video camera suddenly loomed before their faces. "My, if it isn't Ulquiorra Schiffer and Kurosaki Ichigo chatting on the red carpet, I wouldn't be here in the first place!" cried a zealous reporter.

"We are not chatting," Ulquiorra stated obtusely.

"Going by your illustrious track record, Ulquiorra, we know you sure aren't. And lately, we've been receiving some insider news. On the situation between you and Ichigo on the set. Heard it's tense, but we don't really know. Care to verify?" she asked, and had the cameraman close up on them, capturing every twitch and wrinkle in expressions.

"That can't be true!" Ichigo jumped in before his green eyed co-star could think up a caustic reply. The latter's piercing sarcasm was having an off day. Ichigo on the other hand, was given instructions by Kuchiki Byakuya and Soi Fon that relations between cast members should always be presented in the best light. Because in Japan, good press equates favorable critiques and the topping of rankings. They called Ulquiorra too, but he was too bogged down by restless nights to answer it. The terrible weather of late got to him.

"Ulquiorra isn't a monster, no matter how you see it," said Ichigo, feigning a mask of congenial warmth toward his co-star.

The reporter grew bolder. "Word around the office is that you guys absolutely hate the guts out of each other!"

"We're colleagues!" Ichigo further proclaimed.

"Heard you guys held a closed doors duel once?"

"Where" - Ichigo opted for an Oscar-worthy chortle - "on earth did you get that from?"

"I've an astonishing network of insiders, Ichigo-san," said the reporter, and traded sly glances with someone hanging back in the jostling crowd. It was a tall man with hair as blue as electricity, and to top off the mysterious aura he wore a pair of shades with a red fedora hat. Its sheer flamboyance was made complete with a fluffy but upright blue feather.

"No-"

"And they claimed you lost!"

Ichigo's eyes slanted in embarrassment. "Bullshit! We were trading tips on Kendo, and it was just a friendly match which ended up in a tie."

Ulquiorra coughed, and wheezed a little.

"Heard you were trounced."

"Says the naysayers."

The reporter was gaining ground on Ichigo. In truth she could care less about getting to the heart of the many blasé rumors surrounding him and some 'wannabe funk actor named Schiffer Something'. But she had dreamed of luxuriating in a torrid threesome with the orange haired star and his lustrous girlfriend. "Heard you two fought more than once."

"We're as civil as they come."

"Civil, you said?" the reporter affirmed. "But this is Ulquiorra Schiffer" - she rolled her eyes - "we're talking about. Given the manner you two heaped interesting comments on each other months ago, how did you manage to get him to be 'civil', since he was always 'frosty', or 'plain eccentric', as his previous colleagues had put it?"

Ulquiorra sneezed.

This was the perfect opportunity for Ichigo to edge himself as a mature, serious, intelligent, and responsible actor in the public eye. Never mind the unease he suffered when Ulquiorra came near. "It was to generate hype, and it did!" A short laugh. "He warms to people slowly, and it takes time. We're getting along comfortably, and I respect his need for a huge acre of personal space-"

The reporter batted her mascara-ed eyelashes seductively; she was obviously charmed and beyond enamored with Ichigo. Ulquiorra was everything but. The world was spinning against his favor, and more than anything he wanted a piece of tissue. No, he _needed_ it.

"-and time for introspection. Everyone has their own quirks, and my co-star finds his trailer far too homely to step out." Another laugh. "Once I saw a bat fly out, and no that wasn't Ulquiorra." More laughs.

"Now, Ulquiorra, what's your take on Ichigo? He has spoken really nicely of you, and that ought to be a change from the usual flames you receive," the reporter pressed, while running a pointy tongue over her ruby lips, and making sure Ichigo caught that. He didn't but Ulquiorra did. And it worsened his condition; he now felt more ill and homicidal than before, and he really needed a piece of tissue to blow his nose into. In a bout of desperation he wrinkled his nose, hence curbing the outflow of mucus. It worked, and he could now speak his mind:

"He's tra-"

"-nscendingly unbelievable," blabbered Ichigo. Then he traversed to the side, and gave his co-star a solid poke in the side, as if to solidify his claim they were on remotely friendly terms with each other.

"Why, thank you, Ichigo! That was a most penetrating look taken at the set of a movie, set to explode into cinemas nationwide next year! It's deemed by many to be a massive blockbuster, so, what do you think are the chances of it smashing box office records?"

"Ask me again next year," countered Ichigo, as he slapped on a rebellious smirk. "I don't wish to punch above my weight now."

"Spoken like a true thespian," the reporter praised, clasping her mic like a nun with rosary beads. Diamonds positively radiated from her cheeks, and she had a request before trooping off to her next target - hooking Ichigo. "Could you and Ulquiorra do a 'good friends' pose please? It'd be amazing!" It was, and complete media fodder was it definitely.

"And here's my hotel room number," she muttered in a lusty hush, and dropped a note into Ichigo's palm. He then discreetly scrunched the paper into a ball and flicked it away. It hit Ulquiorra's pant leg before bouncing around like an unwanted beach ball.

From a short distance Kuchiki Byakuya looked on with keen gazes. He caught wind of the petty skirmishes both men had with each other, and kept an eye closed. It was normal for egotistical battles to arise while filming, albeit abnormal when Ulquiorra was included, but so long it was not out of hand everything was alright. And the publicity generated could only prove beneficial when the movie launched in screens come Autumn 2010. In the industry, publicity equates hype and in turn, piques everyone's curiosity, then up goes the movie attendances, which hence translates into higher revenue: the purpose behind Soul Pictures. Not the art nor cinematic talent as often professed, but the bills rolling in.

"So, are we ready for a photo?" asked the reporter, sourly. She obviously saw it all.

"I don't see why not." Ichigo was a one man show again – apart from speaking in double negatives, casting Ulquiorra to one dark corner. He seemed to be traveling through galaxies and plucking supernovas from their spots. Cluelessness and bewilderment plagued him when the increasingly suave orange head discreetly poked at his sides, making him squirm like a tunneling earthworm.

"Oi walking corpse," Ichigo tilted his head and hissed into Ulquiorra's ear, while maintaining a friendly outlook throughout. He grinned so hard it made his jaws ache. "Photo-taking time!"

"Do you have tissue?" Ulquiorra sniffed. He couldn't really hear Ichigo, now that his hearing was out of sorts, made blur by an impending flu. How he wanted to slap himself silly for donning pants with no pockets! And now he had to reach out to a good-for-nothing whom he had no qualms thrashing time and again, for something as painstakingly trivial as tissue.

"Act like we're pals, and you shall have one," said Ichigo, and clearly he enjoyed having the upper hand. He was flooring Ulquiorra with something as painstakingly and laughingly trivial as tissue. This was literally once in a lifetime! Poor, ill Ulquiorra had no choice but to oblige. Then the orange head draped an arm over his fatigued shoulders, and Ulquiorra, in his quest of seeking tissue, leaned inwards. Despite what others' varying opinions of this odd pairing might be, Soi Fon held her ground. As she looked on with steely gazes, the tiniest of smiles laced her pursed lips. It was imperceptible against the booming lights. She knew she had hit the mark when Ichigo was selected. The two often bickering stars seemed chummy for once; their heights were just right - Ulquiorra came up short by an inch or two, and their clashing appearances made for a tasty sight.

Obviously she wasn't alone; all cameras were on them, clicking and snapping away furiously, capturing the twinkles emitted from the two bright stars.


	10. A Tale of Two Novels: Part Two

Halfway during the performance, a belligerent Grimmjow Jeagerjacques dragged his increasingly sick cousin to the washroom, ignoring thousands of curious glances, and pushed him up against the tiled wall. He was furious with the meek show Ulquiorra had put up earlier, absolutely fuming and further incensed when he overheard some media birds twittering about how the usually sardonic Ulquiorra Schiffer had 'gone soft'. And then in a regular fit of madness he hurled his red fedora hat away like a wacky Frisbee.

"Oi you! And you over there! And you too!" Grimmjow growled warningly at the three men pretending to mind their own business and whistle away carelessly, as the blue haired menace stormed in with his famous actor cousin strewn about haplessly. "Get the fuck outta here," he thumbed over his shoulder, "before I bust your heads open like fucking walnuts." He cracked his knuckles and arched his spine – the discs rippling like tsunami waves, ever ready to draw blood. That was Grimmjow's core personality – a typical hyper aggressive brawler, and he certainly had no qualms displaying it fully before everyone. Frightened stiff, the furtive trio hastily zipped up their pants and fled without flushing nor washing their hands. Hygiene is nothing compared to mortality.

"What do you want?" Ulquiorra asked tiredly, now that they were alone.

The irascible man whipped off his shades. "What do I _want_? You dare ask me that, you flying fucker? Tell you what, since you're too damned dense in the head to understand the situation at hand. We can't have you act the nice guy! It's okay to be boring, you crazy bastard, but it's not okay to be perceived as _NICE_! It's never o-fucking-kay! You've just committed the cardinal sin in your namesake, stupid Schiffer kid! Don't ever attempt to be someone you're not, because I know you aren't. You're as fucking venomous as a cobra and maybe I might give a fucking hoot because you were emotionally unstable and messed up just now-"

His gratifying lap of expletives was silenced by a earsplitting clap of noise.

There was an impact too – colossal in magnitude, and it blatantly detonated in his face. For the most immeasurable of seconds Grimmjow thought he saw the urinals shake and the tiled walls caving in. Then looking into the mirror, he spotted bits of mucus sprayed across his face, dotting him silly. Already he was pissed with his cousin's bewildering behavior and inability at translating stardom into cash, and now, _mucus_ on his handsome mug.

_'Just exactly the fuck I need now. Mufuckingcus!'_

He was more than enraged – ready to combust anytime, and wrapped a quaking hand around his plastic comb with a sharpened point. He needed something to destroy – now! Apparently it ran in the family: the unshakable desire to off anyone and everyone from time to time. 'In need of anger management classes' might be his associative motto, but gracious was his middle name, and he decided to let go, and punched the innocent wall instead.

A row of tiles cracked. A thousand veins burst.

_'I'll murder the fuck out of you when you're done for, fucking bastard!'_

"Tissue..." Ulquiorra mumbled incoherently when he realized he was the culprit. "Tissue..." he frowned at his cousin, infuriated with the latter's lack of comprehension, and released a sudden, relieved smile when he discovered a packet of tissue blissfully clenched in his hand. It was from Ichigo, and was a fresh pack. In a second of vulnerability Ulquiorra felt he owed his talentless co-star a great deal.

"When you're all sissy and fart, where am I gonna get my money from? I'm fucking set on securing my first Lamborghini for Christmas! Knowing myself, Santa fucking Claus won't even look my way come December, damn it! Anyfuckingway, the press thrives on your fucking evilness, Ulquiorra bastard! Think about it hard!" He shook Ulquiorra to and fro, treating him like a useless rag doll. "If you're civil and considerate and polite in the first place, would you have developed such a cult following? If you ain't such a fucking weird ass, would you have garnered as much media attention? If you are all buddy-buddy with that Kurosaki kid and a placating fucker now, then what's the purpose of your being? Eh"- he forcefully grabbed his cousin's slender shoulders - "answer me you pale fuckwit!"

They slumped staggeringly, and Grimmjow was more than ticked. He shook them harder, and harder, until Ulquiorra's abused shoulder joints creaked and whined and bordered on dislocation.

"Oi!" he yelled. "Don't pretend to fall asleep! Ulquiorra bastard! Don't you fucking try to fall asleep on me!"

"...just get lost," muttered Ulquiorra, gripping Ichigo's packet of tissue in one hand. He had a gormless gaze to his eyes as the other resumed his incessant harangue. The words hit home with as much impact as would a revved up motorbike cruising down a distant highway. Then he stared fondly at the tissue, and gingerly plucked one out, and blew his nose in it, making his ears pop. It was oddly satisfying for the green eyed actor, and he decided to give it another go. This time he blew harder into the tissue, and the pop resounded in his bummed out head like a fired cannon, replete with reverberating echoes.

"Over my fucking corpse," Grimmjow snarled. "You're gonna get out there and give that Kurosaki wimp the fucking middle finger and wave it about in front of those cameras! And you're gonna do as I say and I won't let it rest until I get what I want, you sad, boring bastard! Without my powerful tutelage would your asking price be as fucking high? Why it keeps escalating like fucking Apollo 13 is credited to my work behind the fucking scenes! I pull the goddamn strings for you, and I absolutely deserve every fucking _single_ cent of it."

It was useless to counter Grimmjow's pushy, incentive based determination with simple, kindergarten level logic, thought Ulquiorra, who remained quiet. The sole reason behind the remarkable ascension of his stardom was his prodigious talent and relentless diligence. His cousin was only there to handle the troublesome stuffs, and to be honest Ulquiorra needed no manager. He tolerated the proposition because and only because his mother had suggested it, inciting ridiculous excuses such as:

" _Family ought to help one another out!"_

" _For all you know, Grimmjow could be a closet organizational freak."_

" _Grimmjow could help you fend off your potential stalkers!"_

" _What would I not know? I've watched him grow up and bathed him and changed his diapers!"_

" _Grimmjow would really love to help you! He's terribly talented in taking care of people, right?"_

And then there's the most classic, indisputable rhetorical question of all time:

" _Don't you trust your own mother?"_

Cue a weepy glance and a white, lacy handkerchief fluttering in the wind, and Ulquiorra was sold. His mother could dangle a cheap piece of jade before him and ask for a million yen in return, and Ulquiorra Schiffer would still willingly give it to her, no questions asked. He was that shockingly filial, however unbelievable it was. It undermined his normalcy as a human being, and his private life was always tightly kept under wraps, thus leading to tons of unfounded, depressing myths expounding how he grew up as an orphan and was once abducted by aliens, hence his 'pitifully melancholic outlook in life' and 'overall lack of cohesion with society'.

Minutes ago he was pleased with the childish joys of ear popping, now he felt miserable and rightly so, what with being hoisted from his comfortable seat just before he was drifting off to sleep on his co-star's shoulder. Many times he pulled himself back to consciousness, but Ichigo's shoulder pad proved too tempting, and a few occasions did Ulquiorra test out his theory, and indeed being of designer quality, it was many kinds of spectacular. That shoulder pad was frankly the most comfortable cushion since the fluffy pillow he had at home, which he could bury his face in and not feel iffy about it.

"Oi! What the fuck, am I talking to the fucking wall?" Grimmjow barked, and flicked at those infamous teal lines lividly. Thank god for smudge proof eyeliners! He never knew when Ulquiorra was going to retaliate, given his profound aversion to people touching his face unnecessarily. Despite his annoyance and capacity for unreasonable violence, it was better to err on the side of caution.

"You dirtied my face, Grimmjow," said Ulquiorra, emerald irises ripping his cousin's heart from the chest. His abrupt change in moods rivaled that of a woman's. He was practically a roller-coaster of emotions. Flu often does funny things to its sufferers, and Ulquiorra was a stellar example of that. He moved in and out of character so quickly, he might as well be intoxicated.

Grimmjow inched toward his cousin, and snorted dismissively. "You deserve more, fuckface!"

_'And you deserve death.'_

With a tiresome wrench and shuddering gasp, the green eyed man butted his cousin in the head, blindsiding him, and garnering the last of his resources, he exited the toilet in dizzy steps, clutching his head, and left behind a seemingly knocked out Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, sprawled across the marble floor; a lifeless sack.

**…**

Once Ulquiorra was safely out of sight and earshot, Grimmjow snapped open his eyes and with a painful groan – his head was almost cracked open like a damn walnut, fished out his mobile phone and pushed some numbers.

"Oi you, go check out the party later. There's gonna be some funky shit going on. Trust me, and pay me the fucking money."

With that he hung up, ignored the sore spot on his forehead in favor of wonderful images of him parading down the streets in his sleek new Lamborghini, honking the heck out of everyone in the vicinity, and grinned to himself. He felt indescribably pumped up – began to hum a rock song in true tuneless mode, got to his feet, checked himself out, fluffed his shocking crown of blue hair, played a short air guitar riff with knees bent, pushed his shades in place and swaggered his way out.

He was going to rough things up.

 

* * *

 

After the charity ball performance ended with a list of important names singing along on stage and having glittery confetti stuck in their sprayed hair, everyone was ushered to the complimentary after party – held upstairs in the very exclusive and ostentatious VIP lounge. That included the sick Ulquiorra Schiffer, who fell asleep at the back of the room. His only regret was not returning to his designated seat, and he missed the plump softness that was Ichigo's expensive shoulder pad. He would like to squish it.

**…**

At the VIP lounge, Grimmjow Jeagerjacques tried to single Ichigo out by his flashy orange hair, and noted with increasing resentment his prey hadn't appeared yet. Unknown to him, the latter was harassed by adoring starlets left and right, and it was most evident that having Orihime as a decoy girlfriend did little to dent his status as Japan's rebellious heartthrob. Normal idols steer free from relationships, fearing the fall in popularity should they be exposed. On Kurosaki Ichigo, they worked counterclockwise.

Before news of him being attached leaked out, he was simply lurking around the elusive circumference of insane stardom. After they got out all fast and furious, his name hung on the lips of everyone. Not that he wanted it, but there was a clause in his contract, stating that he was compelled to engage in all promotional activities required of him. The agency's president – Kaname Tousen, an ex-attorney, was such a man of impeccable mannerisms and gentlemanly speech that Ichigo surrendered his gungho will to defy within five sentences.

"...yeah, thanks," Ichigo muttered to a pedicured hand latched onto his own. It wasn't Orihime's. She was whisked away by some haughty billionaire's son to the dance floor. "...right, sure," he turned to address another hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Don't you fucking right me, wimpy loser!" a rough voice growled. Who else but the compulsive brawler named Grimmjow.

"Who are you calling a wimpy loser?! You nutcase," Ichigo shoved the offending hand away, but was secretly delighted when the starstruck masses around him dispersed. Grimmjow was excellent in crowd control, but that didn't take away the fact he was a top class troublemaker too. Remembering the blue haired man's indirect involvement in the duel months ago, Ichigo became guarded. "What the hell do you want with me?"

"It's no big deal, dude," Grimmjow was entirely comfortable with his unctuousness. "Just feeling a tad sorry for the little fucker which you are. Most times, the trouble lies in our hair color, ain't it."

Ichigo shrugged it off. "Who needs your sympathy?"

"I wouldn't expect you to think much of me, Kurosaki kid, and clearly my opinion of you doesn't matter yeah?" Grimmjow struggled against natural instincts to pepper his words with verbal explosives, but he needed to push this kid's buttons. "You seem to care an godforbiddingly awful lot about what that flying fucker over there" - he thumbed at Ulquiorra, who stood by himself in a corner, and blew his nose consecutively - "says though, huh. He may not be correct most of the time, and fuck that, he sucks. Period. And when a sucker like him says something nasty about you, you know you're dealt a suckerpunch, eh? I wonder how many has he gifted you, and made you appear like a wimpy loser..."

It worked like a charm; Ichigo immediately clicked to life. "I don't! I'm immune to him already! What suckerpunches are you yakking about? He's as glorious as plain wallpaper, that pasty faced idiot. The fantastic walking and talking corpse."

"Then that's perfect," Grimmjow took a sip of his champagne. "Because you ain't gonna like what follows after."

 

* * *

 

By now, Ulquiorra Schiffer had consumed the entire packet of tissue, and fallen asleep on his feet thrice. He skimmed the lounge for an available couch, and there were none. They were either taken up by tired old people, or horny young celebrities canoodling with each other. He reckoned it an unforgivable travesty, and hated each and everyone of them. He also saw Grimmjow and Ichigo involved in some chat of sorts, with his cousin alternating between refilling wine glasses and tossing snide glances his way. Ulquiorra couldn't be half bothered, lest he stooped to their level. _Let them say what they want, those implacable fools._ So he resumed standing in a corner, and by the power of his jade eyeballs he sucked the souls of many, and wound up asleep again.

 

* * *

 

"He said all of the above?! He dared call me 'son of a bitch'?" Ichigo was incredulous. He had heard some before, pouring straight out from his co-star's caustic mouth, but listening to those ego-damaging criticisms on a loop made him see stars and mistakenly downed glass after glass of whiskey. He was too bothered to check what was pushed into his hands; he was preoccupied with shooting infuriated replies and sending murderous stares Ulquiorra's way. Alcohol rendered him forgetful and louder than usual. He hadn't a habit of drinking too, coupled with a low tolerance, and it certainly made for a lethal combination.

"Damn that drugged out, piss poor, stupid, n-" a beer bottle smashed against his lips, and he took a huge swig. "He can call me anything he fancies, that bastard. Once he brings my family into this – how dare he call my _mother_ names?! I'm gonna hit back. I'm gonna get right _back_ at that asshole!"

_'Go, go, go! What an easy target! Too fucking easy for my liking, mwa ha ha ha,'_ thought Grimmjow. He was literally purring into his drink, pretending to swallow the alcohol, and watched with feline connivance as Ichigo downed yet another swig.

"I'll show him what I'm _hic_ capable of! I'll show him, _hic_ , I'll prove him dead _hic_ wrong, ha!"

"That's right, Kurosaki! That's fucking flying right! Take it out on the damn bottle! Bottoms up!" Grimmjow instigated. "And you can't fucking believe what he said next!"

Ichigo emptied the contents down his throat, and hungrily groped Grimmjow's jacket. "What else _hic_ did that scumbag say about me _hic_ , or my fa- _hic-_ mily? I'm gonna walk _hic_ over and punch the living daylights _hic_ out of him, ha _hic_ ha! Watch me. _Hic!_ I'm gonna run _hic_ him down with a _hic_ truck, ha ha! Watch my _hic_ back, will you?!"

"Yah, the fuck I will," Grimmjow sneered. "I can go all fucking day and night, Kurosaki, but here's to bottles and fucking gullible twats like you!" he raised a glass to his lips, curved into a manipulative smirk, but that was the furthest he went. Thankfully the kid was too drunk now to notice what was a slip of his tongue. Quickly he motioned for the reporter, disguised as a waitress, to snap some photographs and record those precious soundbites launching from Ichigo's loose set of lips like misfiring missiles.

"I don't need you to remind me," said the reporter, snootily. "I've done my homework tonight, as a professional would, and I believe I deserve some reward for dressing up in this demeaning, chauvinistic outfit from the 1800s." She pointed to hordes of white lace patterning the beige shift dress, a disapproving frown caressing her amorphous features.

"Like screwing the kid and writing a fucking autobiography later?" Grimmjow scoffed. "How fucking creative."

"What does a high school dropout like _you_ know?"

" _Woman_ ," Grimmjow grinned his maniacal grin, making the light in his azure orbs bounce off and directly into the reporter's vision. There was a glimmer of lunacy in them – he resembled a mad man on the loose, and no one – sane that was, would attempt to mess with him. Ulquiorra Schiffer didn't count. "When I say you're done, you're literally done. Meaning you get the _fuck_ outta here. When I say nothing, you shut the fuck up and resume what you're good at. Spinning stories, and duh, paying my dues. Underfuckingstand?"

The reporter shrank back, terrorized by her towering informant. "Y-Yes..."

 

* * *

 

"Schiffer-san, are you okay?" a quiet, gentle voice roused Ulquiorra from his sleep. "We have proper rooms and beds where you can rest on."

"I'm fine," said Ulquiorra, curtly. He was embarrassed – to have been found dozing off while leaning against a wall. "Hey-wait a minute," he called out before the bubbly waitress could head off. "Do you have tissue?"

She smiled prettily, her neat white teeth set firmly between chastely pink lips, and reached into her dress pocket. "Here you go!" she handed a half-used packet of tissue to Ulquiorra, who took caution to not make physical contact as he accepted the item gratefully. He nodded his thanks, and the waitress skipped away happily. When she ascertained no one was looking at her, she recalled Ulquiorra's sleeping face and that low baritone rough from forty winks. Then she hid behind a thick set of curtains, and burst into frenetic giggles.

She showed her true self.

 

* * *

 

Diagonal from Ulquiorra's corner was an inebriated Kurosaki Ichigo, rationality lacking and gall appalling. Grimmjow was at his side, egging him on with every adjective and innovative slandering of his cousin's credibility:

"Oi, ten minutes ago you said you're going right over to that prissy bastard there and smash him with your 'awesomeness', and _now_ , geezer, you're still fucking here!"

" _Hic..._ I'm on my _hic_ way...twerp... _hic!_ "

Grimmjow may be gracious or so he deemed, but patience was no business of his. "He's right – you are a massive wimp, Kurosaki! Limp and wimp at the same time, fuck it. Heh, don't tell me he really got you good then. He really kneaded you in the fucking nuts that time didn't he?! Turned you into a wuss didn't he?! Grow some effing balls you coward! Grow some fucking guts!"

Ichigo swerved around on his heels, nearly knocking Grimmjow down in the process. "I'm go- _hic_ -ing right _hic_ now!"

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra was down to the last of his newly attained tissue pack once more, and this time, he held it aloft with two quivering fingers, gazed at it – almost tortuously, and lightly dabbed the four-ply goodness against a leaking nostril. He had to be thrifty, hence he used only the tip of the tissue. Then someone had the courtesy to bump into his elbow, and thus the whole piece swiped across his nose, ruining it. He was left tissue-less, and indeed someone up there was out to torment him that night. He realized he was rooted to the spot.

He was being chained by someone from behind.

"Ulqui- _hic_ -orra Sch- _hic_ -iffer!" Ichigo gurgled loudly. "You _hic_ pallid _hic hic_ monster!"

"Get off me," Ulquiorra sniffled, and wrestled about as dozens of cameras sprouted like magic mushrooms along the ground and clicked away for the umpteenth time. "Get off me this instant."

"Ha _hic_ ha," Ichigo slurred. "You... _hic hic hic..._ how dare you... _hic!"_

Everybody in the lounge stopped whatever they were doing, and whirled round to play busybodies. Even the bartenders paused their flask juggling, and gaped openly. Of the many gossipy notions surrounding their minds, these were the most common:

_Are they going to fight?_

_They'd better! Great news, great pictures, great vibes!_

_Didn't they proclaim themselves as civil colleagues earlier on?_

_Stop your nonsense!_

_Were they covering up the truth?_

_Why did they do that?_

_Are they out to create more hype than usual?_

_But wait, Ulquiorra Schiffer is involved?_

_And the teen hotshot is drunk? Where is his girlfriend? Oh there, dancing with the billionaire's son!_

_Are they truly enemies? Why the bad blood? This is a first for the local movie industry!_

_Come on just fight already!_

Nobody dared breathe nor twitch a single vestige as they watched Ulquiorra squirm free finally, and slapped Ichigo's hands away with the kind of irateness none had ever accredited him with. The orange head refused to move - defying momentum, and his head was hung low. He became silent. He became blue. He became green too. The upper portion of his face was shaded with pensiveness, and suddenly he said:

"Ulquiorra _hic_ Schiffer, I _hate_ you."

"Likewise."

Cameras began to flash frenziedly and from everywhere, anyone who had a piece of electronic on them put it to good use. Mobile phones, PDAs, laptops, digital cameras, even music players with recording functions were simultaneously switched on. They formed a circle around the two leading men, and closed in on them, stifling their stage until all that was left was a round beam of white light.

"I really _hate_ you. For taking away my _hic_ drink. _Hic hic hic!_ For _every_ - _hic-_ thing _._ "

In brevity, Ichigo's intellect ventured beyond everyone's frequency. But no, since he already inadvertently kicked up a scene, he wasn't going to let it cruise to a _limp_ end. He raised an arm, halted in mid-air, made everyone watch with unabated breath as he swung it down, wondering if the short fiasco was becoming a brawl, or to say the least, some petty case of handbags.

But he didn't – he would never do something as predictably violent and dumb to hit his co-star, never mind his intoxicated state. He chose a different course of action: he opened his mouth, and barfed, and barfed, and barfed.

On a horrified Ulquiorra Schiffer no less.


	11. A Tale of Two Novels: Part Three

Surely it was awkward, waking up at nine on a Saturday morning to a screeching hangover, a screaming family, and an agitated redhead. Usually one of the three is enough to throw anyone into an exquisite mess, apart from the quintessential bedhead, then throw them all together, hovering above the bed with murderous intent, and one emerges from the cauldron a cracked pot. Adding to the morning bliss, was a lion plushie stuffed into his mouth – Kurosaki Ichigo's mouth.

"WFHSFJSJFFTF-FPFFT!" Ichigo spluttered awake when he couldn't breathe. "AFSGHJSDFJSDFDAUHSJFNSFSJ-!" Apparently hangovers resulted in blocked noses for him; either that or Ulquiorra passed his flu around like free tissue.

"Ichi-nii!" screamed Yuzu, his younger sister. "You're gobbling down Kon-chan!"

"You're so dead, _Ichi-nii_ ," added Karin, his other younger sister. Both were twins, but couldn't have been more different: their personalities, their appearances, were antonymous of each other.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT, MY DEAR SON! WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY WHEN I SEE YOUR MOTHER NEXT TIME? OH MASAKI I'VE FAILED YOU! I WAS TOO FOCUSED ON WORKING AND RAISING THE FAMILY IN YOUR ABSENCE THAT I DIDN'T NOTICE HOW TROUBLED OUR SON IS! OUR SON GREW UP WITH ZERO MANNERS! OH HO HO!" Kurosaki Isshin bawled dramatically, thumping his chest mightily.

"HE PUKED ON HIS VERY CHARMING CO-STAR! WHAT A HORROR SHOW OUR SON IS! HE SHOULD NEVER BE LET OUT OF THIS HOUSE AGAIN! WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY WHEN I SEE THE GREAT ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER IN THE FLESH? I'M GOING TO MAKE THIS INGRATE DECLARE A PUBLIC APOLOGY TO HIM!" the eldest Kurosaki sucked in some air, "by the way, son, you're going to invite me to the movie premiere next year, aren't you? I've many things in store for my idol, y'know! Daddy has a life too."

Ichigo pulled out the plushie named Kon from his mouth, and threw it aside. It was unnerving enough as it was, having the unwelcoming taste of felt and cotton and dust lingering in his mouth. Kon landed on Renji's head with an inaudible _plop,_ saliva strands sticky from Ichigo's morning breath clung onto his hair like stubborn shoe glue. Grossed out, the redhead tugged it off and tossed it over his shoulder. Yuzu ran after it with fat tears streaming down her face.

" _Kurosaki Ichigo,_ " Abarai Renji began in a low and purposeful tone. "Any idea what you've done last night?"

Obviously he couldn't, and his head hurt like a series of renovation works. "Yeah, that Grimmjow guy kept talking to me. He couldn't stop even if a truck hit him."

"Uh huh...and then?" Renji leaned in, his brandy eyes flashing 'Kill! Kill! Kill!'. "What _happens_ after that? Any idea, or _none_ at all?"

From the telling pitch of his friend's voice Ichigo knew there was something very, very wrong. Then there was the hangover only one with low capacity for alcohol could have. "I got drunk?" he offered with a mild frown. His father was still absorbed with his endless tirade of 'FORGIVE ME MASAKI!' and 'THAT GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SON!', and somehow in the craziness of affairs he got down on his knees and began to worship the ground, flinging his long arms up and down like the possessed.

"Just drunk?" Karin pressed. "Ichi-nii, perhaps you ought to get up and see for yourself."

 

* * *

 

"NO WAY!" Ichigo howled at the TV screen. It was crammed with coverage of last night's charity ball, and most notably, a certain orange haired star embarrassing himself to no ends. "THAT WASN'T ME! I SWEAR TO GOD THAT REALLY WASN'T ME!"

"Tell that to the world, idiot. Tell that to your amazing co-star whose shirt you dirtied!" Renji folded his arms. "You're dead lucky he didn't make you lick your disgusting vomit up! Speaking of which he's really nice sometimes. Oh my idol! He didn't even make you pay for the dry cleaning bill! If I were him, I'd have kicked you to Timbuktu and bury your head with piles of cow dung! But he was rather quiet about it, eh. Now that you zoom in" - he pressed the remote control and magnified Ulquiorra's expression - "check out his face! I strongly think he's gonna send an assassin after you soon. As much as I really wish to distance myself from you at this very moment, I'd advise you against answering the door these days. Let someone else do it, say..." he glanced at Isshin, who promptly averted his gaze.

"My glorious son has made his bed, and now he must lie in it!"

"How long have they been playing this for?" asked Ichigo, before gulping down a cup of honeyed tea.

"Since it got out, dumb shit! The whole world has it taped down on some stupid device or another, and now it's out on all fronts! Tousen's gonna be really pissed, I know. He may be in Washington now, but hell, once he gets back you're getting a piece of him. And your movie boss, that Kuchiki Byakuya too! He was dead against misdemeanor in public, even going to great lengths to have you two appear nice and cool with each other. Then your ass got all itchy, and decide to carve it up into pieces! If you ain't dead meat on Monday I don't know what else you're gonna end up as. Prolly diced strawberries. Or a glass of rotting strawberry milkshake."

"My son shall die in honor!" Isshin blared from nowhere. He was then shooed out the door by Karin.

"It's a good thing you didn't sell your soul to those Johnny devils, Ichi pal," Renji continued. "Else they would have dropped you from whatever projects you have at the snap of their goddamn talons! Thank god it's me, friend. And just blame it on my bad luck. Once I'm not by your side you get duped into drinking."

"I'm not that foolish!" Ichigo claimed. "Don't treat me like a goddamn minor. There's nothing wrong in failing to hold my liquor."

"Where was Orihime then? She was supposed to keep an eye on you! Sheesh! I don't know you!" cried Renji, exasperated. "I'm getting a pay cut, damn. Maybe I should request for a switch with my idol's manager. Maybe baby. Ngahhhhhh!" With a theatrical whine he flopped onto the sofa, vexation and tiredness occupying his being.

Beside him, Ichigo was mute. The clip replayed itself over and over again, and each time he viewed it, the greater the sense of incapacitation. He was dumbfounded. He was aghast by his unwarranted behaviour, especially after the suave, dignified exhibition of his personality on the red carpet. More than anything he had succeeded in making his pompous co-star look good and in control.

 

* * *

 

Come Monday, droves of inquisitive reporters camped outside the movie set, eagerly anticipating the arrival of last weekend's headline grabbing duo. Ulquiorra, though still a little ill, was smart enough to evade them by giving them the slip. Ichigo, unfortunately, didn't share his talent. One could spot his orange hair from miles away, and before he could park his car in peace, they swarmed toward him, refusing to let him leave. Recorders, video cameras, notepads were all shuffled into his face, flagging for a comment or two, and he kept his head low – the less he said the better, struggling to find an entrance and sprint off. But he couldn't – he was badly cornered by the ravenous media vultures.

"Ichigo! Do you have a moment?"

"What do you _really_ think of Ulquiorra?"

"What do you think of your post party conduct? Any introspection you'd like to share with us?"

"Why wasn't Orihime with you?"

"Are you two breaking up?"

"Do you think your popularity will dip after this?"

"Are you an alcoholic?"

"Why did you do that to Ulquiorra?"

"So what's your relationship with Ulquiorra Schiffer really?

"Friends or foes?"

"Do you really hate him? That's a pretty strong word to use!"

"You called him a pallid monster, didn't you?"

"Do you know his sexual orientation?"

"Have you rang Ulquiorra up to offer an apology?"

"Will you be pulled out from the movie?"

"How abou-"

"Let him go," a monotonous voice interrupted. It echoed throughout the dim basement car park, flying off the whitewashed walls, and sounded a little nasal, but authoritative no less. "Before I call security."

Without looking up from the ground, Ichigo immediately knew who that voice belonged to. _Who else can sound this dull?_ "Ulquiorra..." he murmured, as those intense jade orbs drew level with his. "Of all people..."

"What are you standing there for?" asked Ulquiorra, a hint of challenge creeping into the otherwise flat tone. "Can't move? Surely it didn't seem that way two nights before."

A camera blinked in his face, and he glared ferociously at the offender, before proffering a pale finger at the sizable crowd. Like his uncontrollable cousin, he too wasn't one to be trifled with. His aura was malevolent – one hand tucked invisible, his wholly white ensemble a stark contrast with the choppy black hair, and seeing him so coolly commanding sent tingles down Ichigo's spine. _And there's those cold green eyes._ If he weren't an actor, he would make an excellent militarist.

"All of you, get _out_ now. And you know I won't hesitate to" - Ulquiorra flipped open his black mobile and appeared to dial three numbers - "do exactly as I say."

The reporters knew only too well – some had the experience of being kicked out from movie sets, no thanks to the raven haired star and his obnoxious manager. They scooted off before Ulquiorra could hit the 'Call' button.

"I-" Ichigo felt he owed the man an apology, no matter his prejudice. When a wrong is committed, it has to be rectified. "Sorry for Friday, and..." _Should I thank him too? He popped up at the crucial moment, and till now he hadn't brought up the shameful matter._ "Thank-"

"Stop gazing into space. You're late, and we're set to film a crucial scene later," said Ulquiorra, dismissing his co-star's words – of which was a tough internal fight to get them out. And by 'crucial scene', the green eyed actor was implicitly referring to one of the three sex scenes due. He was nervous enough as it was, having practised none and the only preparation was done weeks ago. To worsen things, the lines, and only the lines could be considered as thoroughly drilled into their heads. But seriously, who would place much emphasis on the speech in comparison to the body language? Ulquiorra predicted they would be needing several takes, and he went into the weekend, determined to cultivate an essential bout of patience absolutely required when working with that no-talent prat. He figured he might give Shinji's incessant nagging a chance too, given the blonde's uncanny ability to create superstars.

"Ah...that scene," Ichigo mumbled as he fell into step with Ulquiorra, striving to stifle the accompanying blush. "Yeah, just got to bear with it. All that...mumbo-jumbo. Should be peanuts."

"Peanuts, you say?" Ulquiorra echoed with a twinge of bemusement. "Such unfounded hubris suddenly."

"Peanuts, I _said_ ," Ichigo hastened his pace. He didn't want to be caught flushing like a blossoming flower in spring. "Didn't you say I'm late? Then why are you cruising around now?"

 

* * *

 

The movie set for the upcoming scene was furnished as would a room in the late Edo period, with tatami mats spread across the floor, a flat end table in the middle, and indicating the understated luxury afforded only by the officials were woodblock prints – melded onto the drawing doors. Then there was the dark green futon. The very spot where Ichigo's character tried to seduce Ulquiorra's. The very spot where the second sex scene was to take place. It was the first to be filmed, and to soothe both actors' nerves, Shinji arranged for lavender scents to be sprayed all over the room.

"Perfect!" the blonde director grinned deliriously. "Oh, and more over here please. I'd like them to relax and enjoy themselves later."

Hiyori spritzed the essence in his face with malicious glee. "There's nothing to enjoy about! Not when you know you're going to waste rows and rows of film later! Everyone knows how difficult these stupid scenes can be, and heh, Shinji Smartass Hirako, since you're all about technique later, we shall see how many takes are used up."

"I've already talked to Ulquiorra," said Shinji, grabbing the bottle from Hiyori's hand. "He'll do something about it."

"They can't be trusted, the both of them!" Hiyori grappled for the bottle, but to no avail. The blonde was too quick for her. "Just look at the media circus they've created. That vamp kid I half expected him to be capable of such rubbish, but _Ulquiorra_ too? What's up with him lately!"

"They're just being themselves, those boys," Shinji removed his tweed newsboy and twirled it leisurely with a finger. "In the entertainment circuit there can never be too much publicity."

"But its _bad_ publicity!" Hiyori protested. "Kuchiki-san and Soi Fon will be paying the set a visit today, all because of them. You know how things are like when they're around! Restrictions impinged upon us, and tons of other junk. Especially Kuchiki-san! I've no idea why is he so stingy. He's rich as a Saudi prince, yet he's forever droning into us the importance of thriftiness and-"

"That case we can call for the scraping of the marketing unit, and pump the savings into the production, Snagtooth-chan. Ichi-kun and Ulquiorra alone can handle everything! They are a two-man promotion team," Shinji winked. "And throw in their managers as well. Especially Ulquiorra's. Seems to be a proficient shit stirrer, he."

 

* * *

 

Ichigo stepped forth from his trailer, clad in nothing but a short, thin, yellow shower robe and beneath it were the scandalous spandex underpants. He huddled himself closely as he made his way out and about, fearful of invisible winds blowing his robe apart and revealing the horrid garment, fearful of bumping into treacherous hands shoving devices into his face and demanding for answers, fearful of what was to happen later. But prior to that, was time for hair and makeup.

And the reading of Autumn Chrysalis, too.

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra detested the lengthy period taken to fully prepare oneself for a scene – usually up to two hours or even five if prosthetic effects were used, and he hated to waste time. According to him, every second spent with no meaning equated a life less deserved. Which in turn meant: due to the desecration of life, there is bound to be punishment. Thus he had a copy of Autumn Chrysalis in his hand. Reading the script was pointless at this hour; he had long memorized it to great effect. Alas the scenes – he hadn't the foggiest idea what he should do. The script was the vaguest thing - apart from the regular dialogues, and the actions required them to 'kiss, embrace, kiss'. The remainder was up to their imagination, and sadly, Ulquiorra Schiffer was found terribly lacking in that aspect.

 

* * *

 

Ichigo entered the dressing room, and was fleetingly dumped on a chair. He clamped his thighs shut, the crude sense of exposure prattling needlessly whenever he allowed his legs a decent shake. Now he understood how girls in micro skirts and short dresses felt like when they sit in public. Extra caution must be exercised, and he was a guy for crying out loud!

From the side he spied Ulquiorra getting his makeup done, and it was only when the pale man closed his eyes did he let his gaze linger on him briefly, unintentionally. There was something about the way Ulquiorra looked as he rested easy. Something the orange haired man, for all his newly acquired vocabulary, couldn't describe. It wasn't breathtaking, neither was it repulsive nor unmemorable. If anything, it was a little funny, that feeling inside. As he looked on, his mind sailed past uncharted waters.

And very nearly was the novel lying on his dresser forgotten.

 

* * *

 

"Damn you lot are finally here! Rome was built and destroyed in the time you guys took to get ready, slowcoaches," Hiyori grumbled. "There, your spot for this scene," she pushed Ichigo onto the green futon, and Ulquiorra to the other end.

"Hey-I can walk on my own!" cried Ichigo, as he fell haphazardly onto the futon with his legs perpendicular to earth. The shower robe rode up his lean thighs, and very nearly did he flash the crew a peek of those now infamous underpants.

"Whoa! Don't get too sexy this early," Shinji snuck behind the orange head and sniggered. "Your co-star might be not able to withstand it," he added as an afterthought, sneaking a glimpse at Ulquiorra, who was too busy blowing his nose to notice anything else.

"Ooh, and Ulquiorra's already having a nosebleed," someone else piped in, cheerily. It was Ichimaru Gin, and did he get one heck of a death glare from the green eyed man himself. Soi Fon and Kuchiki Byakuya gradually strode in one after another, and sat down on chairs stationed about the set. They wore their usual countenances – one perpetually pissed, the other a dignified scowl.

"OK, people!" Hiyori put two fingers into her mouth and whistled shrilly. She was determined to be on her best conduct. She was determined to have a larger bonus come 2010. "Prep prep prep! Here's a dry run of what's to happen next. So listen up!"

And then she blabbered on and on like a high-strung parrot.

 

* * *

 

Ichigo could only stare in petrified bewilderment as the three studio executives were strategically seated around the futon, their faces a fluorescent white – courtesy of the industrial strength lighting. He thought they looked scarier and more imposing than usual, with extra mention going out to Soi Fon and Ichimaru Gin. Her features were so incisive that rays of light bent around obscure angles, leaving the hollows of her eyes shaded and eerie. As for the latter, light just seemed to disappear into the wideness of his smirk.

"Ichigo-san? Ichigo-san?" a movie assistant tapped him on the shoulder. "Your robe."

"What robe?"

"You don't need clothes for this scene, simpleton," Ulquiorra remarked.

"...of course, the robe!" Ichigo narrowed his eyes, and speedily rid himself of the robe, then dove right into the futon. "I'm ready!"

 

* * *

 

**SCENE: Takamatsu's rented room, Teito Inn, Edo (Act Thirty-One, Take One)**

 

Takamatsu Soujiro (Ulquiorra) steps into his rented room, wishing to take a rest after a long day at work. Earlier, the Shinsengumi held a lengthy meeting on the impending war – set against samurai clans from the North. He looks exhausted, and bogged down by the internal strife. He walks over to the table, and lights the oil lamp. He sees someone lying in his futon, the dark green covers reaching to the shadowy figure's neck. Taken aback by this intruder, he advances toward the unmoving one, a hand on the hilt, the other shining the lamp in said person's face. It is Murakami Yoshihito (Ichigo).

Takamatsu: Yoshihito-kun? -removes hand from hilt- Yoshihito-kun... -looks at him with an unreadable expression, and notices his friend's clothes strewn messily under the table. Gaze becomes uneasy-

Murakami: You're back. -sits up slowly, and the covers peel off to reveal his naked torso-

Takamatsu: -stares for a moment- Weren't you supposed to leave for your hometown? Why are you still-

Murakami: Here? I've some unfinished business that I got to take care of. -looks at Takamatsu-

Both men are locked in a feverish gaze.

Takamatsu: -coughs lightly- You ought to hurry along, and return, if that is the case.

Murakami: I'm doing exactly that now.

_A beat._

Murakami reaches a hand out to Takamatsu, but the latter doesn't take it.

Takamatsu: You should get dressed, and leave immediately. -turns away-

Murakami: I'll get going tomorrow morning, but until then, I have words I definitely need to say to you. Many words. I need to get them off my chest.

Takamatsu: That's very selfish of you. What about the loyalties you've sworn to your clan? Do you not understand how a day prolonged in turn becomes one wasted? That one day without your assistance they could very well sink into trouble? Just...just head back. -picks up Murakami's clothes, but the other man disregards the action completely- Please give a little consideration to your family's feelings, Yoshihito-kun.

_A beat._

Murakami: Sleep with me, Soujiro. -whips off the futon-

Takamatsu: -shocked, before transiting to anger and pain- Do you not understand a single word of what I've iterated earlier? Did none of them get through you? Or in your temporal lust have you simply cast everything aside? Do you not understand the failure to uphold an obligation to your familial roots would warrant much unwanted repercussions? Do you not understand any of the above? Who we are? What we do? -pauses to look Murakami in the eyes- Do you not understand though we may be brothers born from the same soils, but the seed of discord has long been sown? That we fight not for our own pride, but the pride of our ties...do you not understand, Yoshihito-kun? That we are nothing but ants in a nest, surging forward for survival, for victory – for a victory that may be inconsequential even?

_A beat. A prolonged silence._

Murakami: -voice nary above a whisper- And do you not understand I'll never see you again?

 

* * *

 

**"Cut!"** Shinji yelled. "Cut! Don't go on anymore! Stop!"

"Yeah, guys, way to go," Hiyori groused sarcastically. "What a way to pep our Monday mornings."

"Eh?" Ichigo was flabbergasted. He thought everything went as planned, and he did work hard on his lines, never missing a word, never pausing unnecessarily, never baulking at how naked he was. Those accursed underpants did naught to salvage his disarmament of being as well concealed as a swimmer in tiny black Speedos. Even more so, he felt all eyes staring at his crotch, as if fixated, and probably sizing his length up if they could.

"It really _enhances_ the _thing,_ " said Hiyori, unblinking. "Hey Shinji, thought of getting a pair for yourself?"

"Already did!"

"Yeah, so the dick's big, and what about it?" Soi Fon scoffed. "You can't act with it!"

They stared at the space between his legs with unblemished fascination, and soon Ichigo became assured that they were really doing what he thought they were. He thought he was in a meat house. Any moment onward those eyeballs were going to hit the floor rolling.

Ulquiorra Schiffer's especially, and especially Ulquiorra Schiffer's.

 

* * *

 

**(After many, many takes)**

 

"Quit horsing around!" Soi Fon barked. "Hurry up, let's go for another take before lunch! And who allowed you to drink?"

_Drink? Is she referring to me?_ thought Ichigo, guiltily. But he wasn't drinking anything – such was the devastating depth of his troubles, poring over them since that nervewrecking Saturday.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer! I was very _deliberately and openly_ hinting at you! Whoever allowed you to take a sip from that bloody bottle of yours!" Soi Fon continued. Her mood was fiercely erratic, and many suspected she was ditched by her long-time lover over the weekend. Picking on the green eyed actor seemed to be a hush-hush past-time of hers too. "Your acting is way off! I repeat, way _off_! Don't you find it disturbing? Shouldn't you work harder on it? Or did you spend your entire weekend scrubbing your blazer and shirt free from acidic puke? Oh _God_."

Ulquiorra looked gloomier than usual, capped his bottle, and set it down without resistance. From behind, Ichigo couldn't help but feel wee bits of sorry for his co-star. What if the green eyed actor did exactly as Soi Fon had alleged, hence sparing no time for practice? True that he wasn't hitting peak form, but to discount him so cheaply was hurtful.

But Ichigo's sympathy didn't last long.

"It's your fault," Ulquiorra turned to glower at him. "You were completely out of sync."

_The nerve of him?!_ Ichigo simpered – his sympathy was a rubber band. Once snapped, it rebounds with extreme fervor. "Clearly the fault lies with you, Mr. No NG! And it isn't I who said it. It's an universal opinion! You really should learn to accept feedback, and refrain from pushing the blame onto others! Work on your attitude, geez."

"Peanuts, as some trash lying by the roadside said," Ulquiorra spat in return, a contemptuous look returning to those icy green orbs. " _Peanuts_ indeed."

"Yeah it was! Until you messed up big time!" Ichigo shot back. "Or has the tissue stuffed your mind? What is it now? A house of cotton wool? A wastepaper basket of crap?"

"Can't you at least try to have scenes done properly? Judging by your input thus far, I have the hunch you're determined to exit the set. Very well then, be my guest," Ulquiorra rebuked. He wasn't having the best of days, and to have his acting insulted to such deplorable dregs made him madder. "You're showing signs of regression – into an ape, and the peanuts should come in handy."

"Don't you throw words into my mouth, corpse!" Ichigo growled, as tics on his temples went off like fire alarms. "And who the hell are you calling a peanut stuffing ape?!"

"And I wasn't finished!" Soi Fon cut in. "Now onto you, aka the stupid vampy boy who got ass drunk and had those rubbish pictures splashed all over the freaking world!"

And she went on and on and on...

 

* * *

 

**(After many, many hours)**

"Uh...so which take are we at now?" asked Hiyori. Her hands were sore from clanging the clapper, and her voice was hoarse from shouting, and trying to out-shout Soi Fon. In her bleariness she had somehow lost count of the takes, and the blame could hardly lie with her.

"Dunno," replied Gin. His enthusiasm was dampened by takes and retakes of deteriorating quality.

Across him sat the ever regal Kuchiki Byakuya, legs crossed, back straight. His disposition was far from elegant, however. He flitted back a sleeve with two fingers, checked the time, and with a twitch of contained irritation, fired the first of three shots:

"Is this the best the crew can do?"

Nobody dared exercise their larynx.

He then fixed Ichigo with a sordid lour. "Is this the best you can do? You looked promising during the audition, and Shinji has said good things of you. Till today I've yet to see any of those claims."

Ichigo tucked his tail between his legs.

The statuesque Kuchiki then looked to Ulquiorra, and issued him a caveat:

"I am _very_ disappointed in you. You are capable of more, most certainly, but this lethargic display? Efficient performance yes, worthy of commendation? No. However if we were to switch opinions, say, your delivery for someone of Kurosaki Ichigo's standard, then, maybe."

Cue Ichigo looking scandalized.

"But the likes of you? Not at all. Much less the unbecoming notion of you, having your reputation precede your actual talent."

"I'll do better in the next take, Kuchiki-san," Ulquiorra bowed. "That is, if this... _person_ ," he cast a putrid glance at the orange head, "co-operates."

 

* * *

 

"OK people! I'm waving the white flag. We're so deep into the woods I can't see a thing," said Shinji, as his eye bags became glaringly pronounced. "We'll put this scene on hold for now, and jump to the next – where the sex's at. I trust you two not to make an epic fool out of your characters please, at least not when no words are required. It's just plain old lovey dovey stuff, so, and I'm begging right here, get it right. Can I expect that as the threadbare minimum? Guys?"

Both leading men nodded glumly.

Shinji clapped his hands for attention. "OK good. Now that I have your word, I-"

"Can we have a erm, like, erm, brief talk about the scene? Erm like..." Ichigo blushed despite himself. He truly was a red strawberry. "How do we go about doing it, and err, stuff..."

"You said it was peanuts."

"I'm not asking for your opinion, corpse face, so _shut up!_ "

"Your lack of trustworthiness is astronomical."

"Who cares about what you think! Not me for sure."

"-wait a moment. You guys _haven't_ discussed this before?"

Both men broke apart from their spiteful exchanges, and nodded again – this time with shame.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!"

"What's wrong?" Ichigo was blissfully ignorant. "It ain't too difficult, right? Touch here, touch there, and maybe a little..." he imploded like the terrible virgin he was, "...err...well, just saying."

Shinji was appalled; he felt like a metal pike atop the highest building in the vicinity, and lightning was striking him a hundred times over. "What the hell-ah never mind. Just go ahead with your instincts. I'm not expecting anything out of anything at all today, so just, do whatever you can," the blonde director stuffed his face into the tweed newsboy cap. If anything he wished for an early death – one by high voltage didn't cut it. "Mix it up, stir it in a juice machine and drink it up, ah-whatever. Just," he waved an exasperated hand, "whatever."

"Ichigo can treat Ulquiorra as his girlfriend, if that helps," Hiyori offered – in the most unhelpful manner imaginable. She was shot a dazzling array of emerald and hazel daggers by the duo.

_G...Girlfriend?!_

"Quit it, you two! I was merely suggesting a solution to your nonexistent working relationship and chemistry! You see, the logic behind my suggestion is clear as day. Since Ulquiorra is like an irritant to Ichigo and Ichigo a worthless slug to Ulquiorra, the only thing to improve is to have either one of you pretend to be someone of romantic importance to the other. Then we have Ulquiorra, who's as asexual as a worm – no lover as we all know. Hence you have to take charge, Ichigo! You're the one with a hot girl, and for a moment, for that _scene_ alone, close your eyes, no don't. Open them wide, but hey you're an actor, and imagine this guy's head is your girl's, and do the usual stuff you do when you're dying to jump her on the couch or something. Not that exaggerating, duh, but do you guys understand? You have to _portray_ the need of physicality in your characters, and the anguish of potentially lost love! Which as of now, is _sorely_ missing in your performances! You two are as loving as shaved ice in some second-rate freezer. No love lost, huh."

All were astounded by Hiyori's supremely long speech of grandeur. Few forgot to inhale, and hence choked. Apart from the weird noises there was silence all around.

"What?" Hiyori demanded. "Doesn't seem like I majored in Literature, but folks, I, Sarugaki Hiyori, did!"

 

* * *

 

"So, here's what we do...like this..." Ichigo tentatively stuck a hand out, attempting to stroke Ulquiorra's neck. It came off as clumsy – a slap even, and the orange head instantly knew he was in deep shit. He had never been intimate with anyone, and now he had to, and the most laughable part was the additional lie of him having a girlfriend. He didn't know whether to chortle or sob, or a mixture of both.

Shinji observed his awkward actions with tweezered eyebrows crisscrossing into each other. "Wrong. You're handling a lover, Ichi-kun, not a CPR dummy!"

"How about this?" Ichigo tried again, this time gentler.

"No. Redo," said Shinji, as he massaged his temples. "Re-do."

"Or this?" Ichigo did it slower this time, but the strength remained there. He literally pressed two fingers against his co-star's arterial vein.

"I didn't ask you to measure his pulse!" Shinji exploded. He was seconds away from tearing his hair out.

Ulquiorra was tired of having his freshly scrubbed neck contaminated and abused by the ignorant man. He suspected Ichigo wasn't really one to wash his hands properly after using the washroom, let alone sterilize them with distilled alcohol. And...how could the man with a girlfriend not comprehend the simple way to touch a loved one? It was beyond his grasp, and he didn't wish to unlock this puzzle. If he were to scrutinize every odd bone in Kurosaki Ichigo's skeleton, he might just leave the set and never return. _Let it be_ , he thought. _Let it be._ Then, flicking out a wrist, he said:

"Close your eyes, talentless ape, and memorize the movements."

Ichigo, being the obstinate mule he was, naturally declined the offer. "What, _you_? Knowing you, you're going to make use of the chance to brutally strangle me."

The green eyed actor ignored the childish jibe and continued, "According to definition, a caress is a gentle, affectionate touch or embrace. That is if it's used as a noun. As a verb, it means to touch gently and affectionately. As it stands, both of which are tragically omitted from your dictionary. Let me show _you_ what's called a 'caress'."

Using the backs of his fingers, gradually but surely, he lightly brushed across Ichigo's jawline, tracing it. Fingernails lingering a tad, as though he was handling something precious yet fragile. He let it slide down the side of Ichigo's neck, the movements never stopping – a velvety sensation, teasing every pore, stroking with an acute passion, before withdrawing his hand, finger by finger, kissing the tender skin goodbye.

Ichigo nearly cooed at the soothing touch – it made him feel like a million bucks, and felt disheartened when the stroking ceased. _It ended already...ah...?_ Then all of forbidding reactions, his heart had to skip a damned beat when he opened his eyes to an Ulquiorra Schiffer gazing straight into his depths, unblinking; fluid.

_Holy Schmizer! When did he get this close?_

"Bravo!" Shinji looked relieved for once, as Ichigo shielded his eyes from the raven haired star's scorching stare. "This is good! Yeah, this is more like it! A loving caress! Treat each other nicely!"

_That's uncalled for. Funny, this is how I stroke Sakana,_ thought Ulquiorra, and he couldn't resist a victorious smirk. To others it was an indiscernible uplift of his mouth. To Ichigo, it was an outrageous flip to have him put in his proper place. Too bad it was mired with those bothersome pink plumes again, this time upclose.

"Have you memorized it?" Ulquiorra hadn't shifted away. Unpleasant thoughts of how Ichigo felt like the softest of tissue plagued his mind, and he didn't like it one bit. _Come to think of it,_ he recalled the sweetcorn incident from before, _so were his lips._

"Tch. You made it sound all great and whatnot, in the end it turned out to be silly doodles around my neck, like this," Ichigo snorted to disguise his wild mental war, and animated circles in his co-star's face. Ulquiorra only stared blankly ahead, and didn't track backwards until Shinji separated them, fearing an abrupt skirmish.

"Has this entire fiasco ended? Before we end the night, I'd like to observe the complete filming of at least one scene," said Byakuya. He was as sour as unsweetened lemonade, having received endless calls and facing newspaper reports on how the production was falling apart. Suddenly finances were insufficient, actors were disobedient, top executives jumping ship, and many more creative premises spun from tabloid weeklies. Though not all were blatantly made up.

Despite the crew's best intentions to produce a top notch performance, no flaw nor deficiency escaped the eagle eyes of the three studio executives, not even Gin, whose eyes were perpetually crinkled into rainbows. The day drew to an unsatisfying close for all – takes: uncountable, scenes done: none. Little did they know this wasteful trend was set to continue.


	12. A Tale Of Two Novels: Final

Ulquiorra Schiffer was too overwhelmed by the amount of retakes and physical torment to see where he was going. He was punished by an act so heinous it threatened his reputation.

 _And_ _my limb too,_ he patted the sore spot on his left arm, _no thanks to that sorry excuse of an actor._

He could only count himself fortunate when he made a beeline for the dressing room without bumping into anyone, or coming into contact with abhorrent beings such as Kurosaki Ichigo and more. It wasn't much to begin with, but coming off a strenuous stretch of bad luck it was simply magnificent to behold.

Groggy, starved, exasperated, and worried sick for his lonely pet kitten at home, he kicked away a hapless Pepsi can at the door, stumbling into the dressing room—his frosty composure removed, and hunting for the forgotten novel. Not a day went by without him reading it alongside the script. It supplemented what he needed to know, and a different angle to flesh out his character. He couldn't imagine a day without it – even with Grimmjow's signature comments splattered all over.

"Where did I leave my book?" he murmured as he strode past rows of dressing tables with chairs neatly pushed in. He had no memory of where he last left his book, and when the familiar white jacket caught his eye, he hastened his speed a little, approached the dressing table, looked at the novel fondly, and carefully placed it inside his humongous black tote.

"And now," a discreet smile tugged at his chapped lips, "food and drinks for Sakana and I."

 

* * *

 

It was only natural for one to stagger from side to side, like an inebriated crustacean strolling along the coastline, when all working senses go to sleep. All Kurosaki Ichigo did for some 15 odd hours was to lie down, get up, receive censure for his stiff acting, shiver in the cold, lie back down and get up, receive more censure, be paranoid and sensitive about his near nudity, partake in a few squabbles with Ulquiorra—only to lose, grumble, daydream a bit, sneak some sips of water when Soi Fon became squinty, see his vision tunneling on his co-star and invaded by more incomprehensible pink plumes, and receive even more censure. To date he was apprehended for a rough gauge of 200 minutes, and his ears were so sore they screamed. It left a dull ring in the canals. He always knew acting was no easy business, but this, was practically Spartan hell.

Minutes before the final take of the day ended, his co-star—the ever steadfast Ulquiorra made everyone's jaws hit the floor when he couldn't stop talking. He didn't let his co-star sputter a single word, because everything that could be said in the scene he blabbered them out like incurable diarrhea. It became everyone's main source of amusement, and none pressed pause. So they allowed Ulquiorra to finish the dialogues—an edited and self-directed soliloquy, in one fantastically long, mind-numbing breath of two A4-sized pages.

Shinji sniggered throughout, and said, "I'll include this on the DVD! Reel bloopers!"

"Time wasting tactic," Soi Fon snarled.

"Guaranteed chart topper!" Gin cheered from the sidelines.

Somehow—some unthinkable how, Ulquiorra hadn't realized his folly until Ichigo smacked him hard on the arm. It nudged him out of his afflicted drama stupor; it empowered Ichigo suddenly. It made him instantly get up and leave the set with wide green eyes, looking worse for wear.

On the contrary, it made Ichigo feel better, and he wished he could say the same of himself now. But he wasn't, and he couldn't. He was experiencing a myriad of emotions far from what he felt in brief then. He reached the dresser he was at in the cold hours of the morning, and discovered the disappearance of his precious novel. It was an uncomfortable finding, one that made him shake his head—trying to dispel it as a thieving act, and he never believed in paranormal activities. He didn't trust astrology either.

"Where did that stupid thing go?" the carrot top yelped at the room. "Such perfect timing too!"

He looked under the table, searching everywhere for his novel. He was certain he had sat at it, left the book on the dresser, and ogled the heck out of a certain green eyed co-star. The thought, tucked away at the back of his head since filming began, now played with recurrence, and with every play the vividness of Ulquiorra's relaxed mien grew. That straight, pert nose. That small mouth set in an indifferent line. The deep hollows of his eyes. The thick, charcoal lashes framing the end of the lids. The sharp contour of his jaws, sloping down to a pointy chin. The paleness of his complexion, and how it made his features spark to life. Too bad he wasn't as engaging in real life. Also, the—

_Where's my brain going? Sheesh. Another useless thing! Book, book, book! That's what I'm here for. Not picturing that corpse face!_

Frustrated, he got down on his knees, slapping his head twice to be rid of his co-star's face, and peeked into every nook and cranny. He was very desperate to return home, soak in the tub, and chomp down Yuzu's homecooked dishes. And then he _couldn't_.

"What brilliant timing, Mr. Book. Fecking brilliant," Ichigo jibed, and threw his bag down in disdain, "now I'm really gonna die here a broken and famished ghost!"

Muttering an assortment of curses about runaway books and idiotic pasty faced people, he fumbled along carpeted, elongated aisles, and stopped before a dresser some steps away from where he sat at previously. On it lay Autumn Chrysalis, ever slightly manhandled and used.

"When did it grow legs? Itchy hands, those stylists," Ichigo grumbled, "irritating people."

He then picked up the book, scowled at it, dusted an unseen layer of dust off the cover, and dumped it into his bag.

 

* * *

 

The time was 11 pm, and exactly an hour before Ulquiorra Schiffer's daily stipulated bedtime. Piping hot from the shower and clad in his pale green pajamas, he luxuriated on the designer couch, legs fully stretched out, and his beloved pet kitty – pertly named Sakana, was resting at his feet, its soft fur tickling his soles every other minute. It was now well fed and satisfied. Yawning, he picked up his copy of Autumn Chrysalis from the coffee table, sipped some hot chocolate, and gave Sakana a little rub with his heel. The ginger cat purred its delight, settled into a small ball, making its owner feel cozy too.

"Time to do some reading," Ulquiorra muttered as he reclined into the couch. Thumbing through several pages, he noted with disdain his favorite bookmark was out of sight. It was a brown maple leaf, pressed and laminated. It was his submission for an art project back in junior school. In hindsight he reckoned the month of August was one where his enemies or those whom he had dissed, got together and cast a hex on him.

"What's this..." his finger trailed in puzzlement along neatly written notes. Those were in tiny print, and struck no resonance with him. The notes were written between vast spaces of lines, almost in synchronization with the actual print, and he had to squint doubly hard to discern between fiction and note-taking.

"Never give up? Will show PFP what I'm made of? Never ever lose to the likes of PFP? One day I'll be on PFP's level?"

"PFP...?" he mused. "What exactly does PFP stand for? Sounds like a nickname. Suppose that dimwit cousin of mine wrote that. But—no, there's no crass language involved."

Then he continued to pore over hundreds of pages, flipping them in quick succession, immersed in the abundance of notes scrawled legibly on the vast spaces the novel had to offer. On some pages there were even post-it notes stuck on them, highlighting certain areas. They were followed by in depth analysis and remarkable observations between script and novel. Some of them even hit home. It was a major case of deja-vu, and Ulquiorra felt he had repeated those remarks on one occasion more than often. Still, it was invigorating to read them. The quality of those notes was more than sufficient to have him go through every pointer, and sometimes he felt brain waves torched up and ready to set sail. He went from prologue to epilogue, taking in not the printed words but the handmade notes.  _Not bad at all._

Ulquiorra poked his bare toes at the ginger cat. It mewed in return, stirred a little, and pawed at his ankles, before scampering onto his lap and fell asleep there.

Reassured he was in the safety of his home, he emitted a soft smile that barely touched his lips. His pet kitty was truly adorable, and especially so when it snuggled into a furry ball. He decided to re-read the written parts, even taking upon himself to add in more insights. Then he looked up at the wall clock, only to realize it approached 4am, and came to the monumental conclusion that, after all he had read and then grew happily lost in his own world, lavish in his praise for the owner of such sound mental state, Grimmjow couldn't have possibly wrote those. Neither did he—it was locked and loaded in his head. Then—

"This isn't mine."

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo made sure to lock his bedroom door after he spent a good hour in the bathtub, soaking in the foam and lemon grass essence. It revitalized him, and he stepped out of the tub a shiny trophy. Then he headed downstairs for supper. It was supposed to be his dinner, but the time ain't exactly early.

Things did start to look rosy with slurps ploughed into his ravenous mouth, in fact they tend to do so after a scrumptious, simmering bowl of tonkatsu ramen. Now, all he needed was some peace to work on his character analysis, practise before a mirror, and call it a night.

Clutching Autumn Chrysalis before his chest, he pulled the covers up to his waist, and propped a pillow against the headboard. He felt comfortable, and he was ready to begin. He opened the book, expecting to see the warm nostalgia of his writings filling him. But expectations did him in. Instead of song lyrics there was a poorly drawn skull, with the polite warning 'Touch this and die, you nasty fuckers!' inscribed below.

Feeling odd, he fingered the penciled skull, attempting to recall when was this drawn. But he couldn't—because it wasn't him. And as obvious as things right under one's nose go, he failed to draw the link between two obvious points. Furthermore the line was dotted. But his brain was fractured. It was not in working order. Hence he flipped to the first chapter, and there, many more incomprehensible writings sought his splintered attention. With glee he read them aloud:

"Give me your heart and your fucking soul!"

"We are victorious!"

"I like things rough and pointed! Yeah-hey!"

Ichigo's curiosity was piqued, and he thumbed through the pages like a fan, astonished at how packed the invasion of foreign matter was. There were words on every page, every available space. Certainly the culprit behind this was no waster of resources. So he continued to read, speedily, sometimes even going back to laugh twice at the same comment written. He lost track of time, and of his own senses. His logic went on vacation too.

 _Ridiculous,_ Ichigo shook his head, _when did I write this anyway? When I was nodding off? But seriously, did I really write this?_

But still, he decided to read on and on and on, ignoring his fatigue, ignoring the hinting chirps of crickets—that dawn was soon to come.

"What the hell are these about? Oh," Ichigo laughed, and he couldn't resist turning a page. "Fuck green eyed smart asses and down with schools? I love acting so much I'd swap my shorts for yours?" his laughter grew louder, "I'm so terrific that money is me? I'm a stupid fuck?"

Caught up in mirthful delirium, he attacked the pages for more.

"I hope my next shit is a p-p-porcupine?!" Ichigo chortled wildly, kicking off his covers in the process. He now cared for neither pillow nor a comforter to snuggle into. "Geez, whoever wrote this has a top sense of crass taste! Did he or she by any chance read one of those racy gossip blogs? What do we have next? Aha—here: Woe is me! Hence the stupid lines on my fuckin' face? Hmm...facial lines...?"

"I cry mascara and eyeliner, fools?" he clapped a hand over his mouth. _Sounds suspiciously like Ulquiorra Schiffer. Don't tell me he wrote this?! What a terrible sense of humor! Just like him, and everything about him shouts 'I'm a terrible person!'. Heh, evidence!_ He stifled a yawn, and flipped another page.

"I'm a walking and talking Maybelline ad?" Snigger. "Sure he is, that corpse face. With all that makeup and ugh—black nail polish. What is he on anyway? Inspired by visual kei? Ha! He must have been a failed visual kei member, probably got his smug ass kicked to the curb and thinks he can still make it. That must be it," muttered Ichigo, delighted by his impromptu conclusion.

Then he imagined Ulquiorra sitting by the table in a library, preferably a dark corner because he was such an anti-social dweeb, incensed by others' perceptions of him, and hence he took it out on the novel. They came in the form of racy rants, tasteless remarks—anything that was deemed as uncharacteristic of him in the public's eye.

Said scenario made Kurosaki Ichigo laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He would punch a kitty just to see that for himself, and he must had laughed for an interminable length of time, because he found his throat running dry and navel in acute pain. At the end of cracking guffaws and abdomen hitting, he realized an all too important thing he should have at the beginning:

"Shit, this isn't mine!"

 

* * *

 

Then came the following fortnight of intensive filming and endless bereavement for the actors' souls. Nothing went the way they should, absolutely, and wrong did the clownish parade march towards. With every canceled take and frustrated yell of 'Cut!', the level of dissension amongst various crew members grew. It grew like an unstoppable avalanche, and finally override its limits. The three studio executives who made it a point to stop by everyday, provided unnecessary pressure for the actors, who already were jumpy with every mistake made.

Soi Fon grew so mad she couldn't speak.

Ichimaru Gin grew so infuriated he stopped smiling altogether.

Kuchiki Byakuya, well, he was being himself, albeit sporting a sterner mien than usual.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, a silver lining in the horizons, or some sunshine transiently peeking through rainclouds, that Japan suffered an epidemic outbreak, and many were quarantined until further notice. Various productions around the nation were halted—especially Tokyo, and the movie industry proved no exception.

"There can't be a more timely respite than this," said Kuchiki Byakuya, "that the following three weeks are rendered a complete wastage."

"Get yourselves ready, lazy bums!" Soi Fon found her voice.

"If this type of poor performance resumes after the break, some of you, and especially _you_ ," Byakuya looked directly over at Ichigo, "may very well be axed from the production. You may be in now, but there's no guarantee of keeping your place should you slacken. We need people of the finest caliber, we need people to be on top of their game. And those who fail to keep pace won't be required to stay on. This ship carries no subpar passengers. We have many, eagerly waiting in the wings to take your places. Hence I hope," he continued, his serious gaze on Ichigo never wearing off, "this will serve as a good wake up call."

 

* * *

 

Never had Ichigo feel as crestfallen and expendable as he did now. Thrown scornful glares by Ulquiorra—been there, done that. Messing up his lines—likewise. Facial expressions—he couldn't help it if he frowned every scene. Perhaps the need of Botox was nearing. Intimate scenes—both were at fault. Reprimanded by Soi Fon and Kuchiki Byakuya repeatedly—used to it.

Although lately, the rampant criticisms were bordering on a new low, and this time he wasn't as invincible. Already he developed doubts about his ability to take on such a role, one of indefatigable character, one who dared to carve his destiny, one who dared to love. He wasn't as sure as before, and wondered with rising frequency if he had taken too big a leap this time. He didn't give up, that was certain, but felt he was at the maximum. He overdid it, overestimated his worth, and he didn't want to admit Ulquiorra was right about him being a duck. Sturdy on the surface, but waddling frantically beneath. Not to gun for first prize, but to stay afloat.

So Ichigo was clattered by bombs. Verbal bombs, physical bombs—paper fans, scripts, rolled up scrolls. They fell from nowhere, from the middle of August to the start of September, and dropped everywhere. He felt burnt out, and under appreciated – that his hard work hadn't meant a thing where it truly mattered, that nothing he did within his might was sufficient to let him get past unscathed, much less receiving commendation.

In a space of days, his confidence eroded, and Ulquiorra's haunting words of past congealed like an obstinate blood clot. It threatened to cut off all streams of oxygen, and sometimes he couldn't think. He was literally at his wits' end.

And if his week couldn't get any worse, his novel, decorated with important notes and reminders, had been mistaken for another. It was officially missing. Now all he had was this vulgar piece of work – not to discredit it, it made him laugh the night away, and dissolve his worries, if not temporarily.

"Chill, man!" Renji said with assurance. "There's no need to hit the panic button this early!"

"I'm pressing it with all my might," Ichigo lamented, slouching against the wall in Renji's apartment. "That Byakuya kept staring at me when he said all of those, and he emphasized heavily on me. I knew he did. That corpse face's going to hold a private party later – he's been counting down to my departure since that day we met!"

"C'mon now, don't throw in the towel just yet," said Renji, seated on his rowdy fuchsia couch and adjusting his newly bought lime green bandana, "where's the bullish Kurosaki Ichigo we all know and love to punch?"

Ichigo's gaze hardened at the brightness that was his friend. "Disappeared down the sewage pipes, and flushed into the sea. Would take decades before it comes a full cycle."

Abarai Renji absolutely hated it when his best buddy sulked his life away. He didn't enjoy the sight of helplessness overriding that cocky smirk, and the taste of being unable to pick his spirits up worsened everything:

One, it whinged on his nerves of ice-cold chill. It prevented him from having a beer at night with his latest drinking mate, who happened to be a certain blue haired man of arguably, his build.

Two, a petulant Ichigo meant more frowning and henceforth an increased probability of him undergoing Botox before the age of 30.

Three, his friend could just sit around and sulk all day, and become the most unproductive person ever to walk this planet. He would start mulling over Greek tragedies and contemplating the meaning of life and its many unsolved mysteries. No sooner would he pull out a Shakespearean quote or two. Undeniably that young man was intelligent, but his outstanding hair color made people lose sight of it.

Hair colors had been a topic of interest between Renji and his new pubcrawling friend.

Fourth, they were the best of pals since junior school. He'd risk a limb for him, and he was affirmative the other would do likewise. And which was exactly why he was as troubled a soul as Ichigo now.

"Hey, listen!" Renji's brain hit a spark. "I've got a brilliant idea!"

"Hmm...?" Ichigo placed his head between his knees. "Don't tell me to hit the bar, or I'll seriously do your new accessory some damage."

"You little shit. You've got a helpline after all."

"Right. You? Wake me up when production ceases."

"Yeah, what can I possibly do? There's someone right under your nose though," Renji chuckled.

"Sure, sure. And who the heck is that marvelous?"

"Ulquiorra Schiffer, that's who."

"And you're nuts! Absolutely off your rocker," countered Ichigo. "It's his greatest wish to have me disappear off Japan and god knows else where."

"You'll never know until you try, stupid punk!"

"Why try when the end result is crystal? They all want me out, and maybe it's better if I go now. He's right—what a genius. What a seer."

The chuckles immediately halted. "Do you hear yourself?"

"Nice and loud."

"Oi! Get a grip, won't you?" Renji walked over and planted his large hands on Ichigo's shoulders. "Nobody's dropping out or anything! Not you! You're one of the pillars in the movie! They can't shift you out. The entire structure is bound to collapse!"

"Nah, I'm expendable."

"Actors are a cornerstone of filming! Without you guys what's the audience gonna watch? Trees and stones and mountains and rivers and animals? Fuck, that's a documentary! And even a documentary has a goddamn host inside! Either that or just voice over narrations! The human element is required! People need familiar faces – their kind, to find some sort of association so they could engage themselves in the situation and empathize with the characters, or whoever the humans are."

Ichigo glared at his friend. "No wonder the debate team refused you entry year after year."

"Shut the hell up about that! That was years ago," Renji was aflame with reminders of his past failings. "Have you forgotten why you got into acting?"

"I didn't know what else to do after high school."

"The medical school accepted you, Ichi, but you rejected them. Ah fuck, what's that depressed look for?"

"I should have joined them."

"Too late for regrets, friend! Focus on what you should be doing, and do it so fucking well that nobody can say, or even think otherwise of you. Heck, I just repeated your mantra."

"I'm nowhere as good as _he_ is. And when we're placed side by side," Ichigo kicked his own feet in despondence, "it comes out even stronger. It's a sobering contrast."

"It's just one comment by that Kuchiki fella, ain't it? Tell him he can shove his mouth up his arse! Tell him I said it!"

"It rang a bell," said Ichigo, glumly. "Maybe I'm just an one trick pony."

"You? One trick pony? You're virtually a clown. A clown with a hideous, orange wig. You can juggle apples, peddle backwards, do somersaults in the air, balance on the tightrope, swim in a tank like a bloody merman, and swing on the trapeze like a frigging chimpanzee! What one trick pony are we going on about here? That effing Kuchiki said that?! I'm gonna go have a word with him!" Renji hollered, slammed a boot against the table and turned to the door, ready to march off.

And his sports jacket was grabbed by the carrot top.

"Don't be a brash jerk," said Ichigo, loosening his grip. "You think he'd give a damn about you?"

Renji shifted uneasily in his boots. "Well...neither do we about him, right?"

"The thing is, Renji, they are correct. I should have just stuck around and ask for a sequel to the second sequel we did last year, and rename it as 'The Undead Vampire Stories'. One every year, and each poster to better the predecessor. Easy money too. The public is still hung up over it—gotta milk it before the fat cow dies. Yeah, I'll do just that, and all of that, and let that contemptuous ghastly brat look down on me and—argh! He wouldn't even know I existed if I weren't his co-star. That blind bat!"

Renji thought Ichigo sounded increasingly like a whiny girlfriend who was jilted by her boyfriend via text messaging on Valentine's Day, and in this case, the heartless cad was Ulquiorra Schiffer. "Why do you have to compare yourself with Ulquiorra? I mean, you two couldn't have started more differently. An idol and a character actor. And now you're bridging the gap, and you're only 23! I don't know what you're grouching about – call me a knucklehead but that's all I know. I'm telling you, most guys out there would kill to be in your place _right_ now."

Ichigo said nothing, but buried his face in open palms. The darkness made him more focused, and less prone to self-pity. Did he really have to swallow his pride, just so he could remain on the set and improve on his wrongdoings? Now, that was a long march. An excessively lengthy march down ego's path.

It was of biblical proportions.

 

* * *

 

And so, after an insufferable 3 hours, Kurosaki Ichigo made up his mind. He was to swing by Ulquiorra's trailer that evening, and in his most cordial, polite demeanor, ask for a private coaching session. He would not beg, he would not plead. He would take it as a man should. Nonetheless it shook his nerves – the idea of being in an enclosed space with the green eyed man, not knowing what could result from their private interaction, not knowing if his head might wind up being lopped from the rest of the body with a gigantic pair of scissors.

_He'll probably downright reject me, that evil troll. Add in a few insults or two while he's at it, and watch with joy when I get my ass kicked out. I just know he would, that vindictive corpse face who thinks the world of himself. Why do I even bother? On top of that it's that damned Renji's idea. Dude thinks he's all clever. Damn!_

Ichigo heard his weighty sighs echoed down the corridor. They were skulking after him in a serpentine path. He wasn't without gumption, and loved to thrive against the odds. But...Ulquiorra Schiffer wasn't any random muscly brute down the street.

_But what if! What if he agrees? And I need my book back anyway. To hell with him. Honestly I don't give an eff. Yep, I don't. I don't. I don't. I don't. I don't. Na na naa na na._

But his legs did, and they were very industrious. Soon he arrived at the door, and wondered if his co-star would even be there. It could be a futile trip, and the antecedent musings would prove to be just a waste of brain space.

Ichigo figured he had came this far anyway, and a knock on the door won't hurt. With a whiff of apprehension he rapped his knuckles against the cold steel door, then winced at the hollowness created. As if to dissipate the escalating tension creeping up on him, he tapped his feet against the base of the door, and counted to three. Should there be no reply by then, it could mean his fate as a credible actor was sealed. Sealed to the coffin, the cover nailed in place, and buried six feet under.

"Who is it?"

_Oh my go- he's in! What do I do now? Shit-_

"Who is it?"

A short cough. "Ichigo." Cough. "Hello."

And a strange sort of silence followed after.

"...the door's unlocked."

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra knew the trailer was his territory and he wasn't the least afraid of showing it. He swiveled around on his chair the moment the door opened, looking very much like the king of his world. In the white light stood one Kurosaki Ichigo—a mask of fearlessness on his famous mug. He had a book in his hand. It was Autumn Chrysalis.

 _So he has my copy after all,_ thought Ulquiorra, _how queer._

"H-Hey," Ichigo tried not to lose his wavering stance. "I believe this is yours. Replete with vulgarities and laugh a moment lines."

Ulquiorra glared at him, disturbed that he knew of the rubbishy additional content in his copy. Then he turned his attention to the book Ichigo just set down on the table. The green eyed actor subsequently retrieved Autumn Chrysalis from his tote, and held it gingerly with both forefinger and thumb. He wanted to pay Ichigo back for that non-existent malicious glint flashing in his eyes. Truth was, Ichigo was such a nondescript bundle of nerves he didn't hear what he was saying, let alone hatch a plot to blackmail his co-star.

"I already have my copy," said Ulquiorra. _Don't tell me...that the book I've been reading is his...?_

"Why do you have _mine_ with you?" asked Ichigo, displeased his book was handled as though it was something dirty.

"So, this really belongs to you," Ulquiorra continued to pinch the book, and waved it a little before his co-star, making the latter grasp at pockets of air repeatedly.

"Did you take it on purpo-" Ichigo stopped himself from hurling accusations. He was supposed to make nice with Ulquiorra; he was supposed to ask for guidance. He wasn't there to pick a fight and knowing the eventual loser would be him anyway. For the last time, he decided to be as polite as he first met Ulquiorra. And it was a long time ago, a time where prejudice and bias were unheard of. So, in his most courteous manner, he said,

"I'd like to have my copy back."

"Prove it to me."

"I...well, I wrote tons of things inside."

"Say it."

"Erm," Ichigo was reluctant to let known his initial childish obsession with toppling Ulquiorra over. "On the blank page before the prologue, there's a song lyric from Mr. Children."

That was true. "Which song?"

"World's End."

That was true too.

"Anything else you wish to add?" asked Ulquiorra, who was being his usual friendly self.

"And I stuck some post-its on the pages. They're all...cloud shaped, and white with blue borders."

That was absolutely true, and somewhat embarrassing for the orange haired star. He had ran out of post-it notes, and Yuzu offered him hers. No one could say no to the sweet Yuzu, and Ichigo definitely wasn't going to buck the trend.

"I see you are a frequent user of acronyms. Such as 'PFP' and a few others as forms of written batterings," Ulquiorra observed. He was now convinced by the solid display of evidence, and more so, suspended in subtle disbelief that his co-star was capable of such analytical brilliance. Actually, he was coming to terms with Ichigo's infrequent spurts of talent, but he tended to say otherwise. He reckoned the younger man to have pockets of unearthed acting prowess, and was infuriated the latter hadn't let it show at the most opportune moments.

To Ulquiorra, Ichigo was an unknown entity, always trudging about the transformation from 'potential talent' to 'talented'. Both stages seemed alike, but there stood a whole world of difference. Some people are branded with the 'potential' to succeed, but they haven't, and the day they haven't and when it bypasses the short shelf life of an emerging actor, they are unceremoniously dumped into the 'Could have been so and so' category. It is only the finished products that are celebrated, and remembered in time to come. Not the former.

Hence, the most significant process in life, according to Ulquiorra's deceased father, is to translate potential into actuality. It is incomparably arduous a task, but the most satisfying too. Then the novel cropped up, and suddenly Ulquiorra Schiffer had to redefine his co-star. It came too soon for his liking, but just about time for the movie.

"Pasty faced pig, that's what it stands for," revealed Ichigo, almost proudly. He adhered to the term so often he was now programmed to wake up to it whenever mentioned. Without knowing, Ichigo had fallen under the spell of cognitive stimulation. Throw Ulquiorra Schiffer before him and he'll without doubt turn into a snappish fiend with gears clicking in his head, and pink plumes eclipsing his once clear vision. And then they would bark at each other like wild jackals.

That said, the truth behind 'PFP' would be divulged with complete pride had his privacy not been intruded. And by a nasty jerk at that! Now Ulquiorra would have unbridled access to the numerous ingenious methods he had broken ground on, and perhaps even use them for his selfish means. Such as pretending to pioneer new forms of acting – of which the fundamentals were built upon his ideas. That and the many character analysis he had spent countless nights working on. He was faultlessly diligent, and sometimes he blamed the color of his hair. If he had nice, clean, dull black hair like Ulquiorra, he'd be reckoned as a goody-two-shoes, and expectations of his personality would dance in tune with who he really was at heart.

 _Wait a second,_ Ichigo pondered, _then I'd look like that actor dude called Shiba...Shiba...Shiba...whatshisface._

"I do have a name which I prefer to be called by," said Ulquiorra.

"Can't be helped if I forget it sometimes. Nah scratch that, it's every time," Ichigo grimaced. He failed to snatch his copy from his co-star's hands. It was dangling before him loosely, and he pounced on the opportunity when Ulquiorra shifted his feet.

 _Damn,_ Ichigo swore, _he's freakishly quick!_

In Ulquiorra's vision, Ichigo was a fat, grumpy cat, and the book in his hand was a yarn ball. He would swing it enticingly before the other, let it lie in waiting until the bait encroaches upon it, then hook it back up, leaving the poor cat (Ichigo) hungrily anticipating for more. Of which he would never give. Sympathy had no place in his residence.

"But I come here not only for the book," Ichigo tried to lunge for the book, and once more Ulquiorra made a classy swerve. "There's something else I have..."

"I hope it doesn't mean anything if, I were to say aloud what you're about to ask."

Despite his predicament, Ichigo couldn't help but grin. "Never knew you moonlighted as a mind reader, Ulquiorra Schiffer."

"You wish to seek my help."

"It's comforting to know you're as tactful as ever," Ichigo taunted, though inside his guts were churning like hot stones. "Now that the question has been worded, what's your answer?"

"This could go three ways."

"It's either _yes_ or _no_!"

Ulquiorra enjoyed having the upper hand in his dealings. Each and every one of them, and the greatest joy had to be brought by pesky pests admitting their shortcomings and bowing before him, seeking refuge and forgiveness. And then he could turn them away like unwanted beggars. Joy to the world, indeed. Or not—if they are deserving. But before that, he could play with them a little. It wouldn't hurt.

"Or I could leave you hanging by the scruff of your neck."

Ichigo was mortified. _That sick freak!_ His prediction was coming true – that Ulquiorra Schiffer really was a wicked bastard of the highest degree, all cruel and devoid of compassion. He wouldn't even flat out refuse him! His co-star simply wished to torture him, and watch with persistent vivacity as his expression twists into varying levels of purgatory. Maybe, Ichigo thought, he would bring out the guns and lasso and whip and a herd of wild horses, and send the room into a classic Mexican stand-off. It would stir up an instant Western spaghetti.

"Are you allergic to cats?" Ulquiorra asked.

"N-No."

"Alright then."

 _Alright then...? ALRIGHT THEN?! Eh?! That's it?_ _Cats? After setting me back with a vicious option he asks about cats? What is his head made of, seriously..._

Ulquiorra reached for his oversized black tote, and dug around for something before tossing said object at Ichigo. It was a set of keys – with no keyring nor embellishing accessory whatsoever. They were plain keys. They were house keys.

"W-W-What's this for?" stuttered Ichigo, and he immediately felt foolish. What was so surprising about a set of house keys? Nothing noteworthy - save for the situation and, its owner.

"My place. Three weeks. You're not allowed to sleep over, and have to obey whatever rules I set out. There are many, which as of now you have no need to be informed at this juncture. Once your unworthiness surfaces I'll not hesitate to have you thrown out. Do you follow me?" asked Ulquiorra, as he reached for a paper scrap and pen, and scribbled down his address. He then handed it to the carrot top along with Autumn Chrysalis, and took extra caution not to touch the younger man's fingers.

Kurosaki Ichigo could only gulp and nod and blink at the keys and paper clenched in his palm. _His...h...house?_ He scanned the address written. He had expected someone the likes of Ulquiorra to write in swooping italics, but no, he wrote in print. It was Courier New font. Swamped with disbelief at how agreeable his co-star was, he took a closer look at what he was given.

_R-R-Roppongi Hills...?! He lives in goddamn Roppongi Hills?! Just how rich is this guy?_

"Let yourself in if the door isn't answered," said Ulquiorra, pointing at the keys. He was stoicism personified. "I'll be expecting you come Monday morning."


	13. Greetings, Schiffer Residence!

Monday came quicker than intended, and Kurosaki Ichigo found his treacherous finger atop the red buzzer, circling it, wondering if he had made the right choice by coming to the snobbish Ulquiorra Schiffer. He was offered assistance! It made him wary, and fearful of being 'sweetcorn-ed' twice by the same mastermind. Though he had the keys, he decided against using them. Who was he anyway, to intrude into a stranger's house? He might not be the most polite man, but he still had some basic manners left in him.

So he waited.

The longer he waited for Ulquiorra to answer the door, the more suspicious he became. Ichigo's brain worked in strange ways, and when the door opened with a loud _click,_ he jumped. It was totally uncalled for, but the silly actor-idol had for the briefest of moments thought that explosives were raining down on him and firing away at his feet. But it never happened. He was a master of baseless imagination, contrary to his expressionless co-star.

"You," said Ulquiorra. Iterating in a flat tone was his way of issuing morning greetings. "Come in."

His pale face was devoid of makeup, his midnight black hair was slightly mussed from sleep. He however was clad in neatly pressed clothes—a white dress shirt tucked into a gray V-neck cashmere pullover, replete with slacks of the darkest green possible. He looked picturesque, and Ichigo half expected him to launch into a pose anytime. Which Ulquiorra didn't. He wasn't stupid nor showy. He was impatient with his co-star, who seemed transfixed and muted by his domestic appearance.

So he cleared his throat, and set his gaze hard. He didn't like being looked at unduly, much less being 'admired' by talentless runts showing up at his doorstep early in the morning. Never mind the fact he was the one who invited Ichigo.

Ulquiorra Schiffer had even extended his hospitality by giving Ichigo the keys to his house.

"Is there a need to dress so nicely in your own house?" asked Ichigo, choking back a snigger. He was dressed in a graphic tee and jeans. Simple and casual. "Over the top behavior, as expected of someone like you."

Naturally Ulquiorra dismissed the insult with blankness, and moved aside to let him in. But Ichigo's feet chose to grow roots, and he craned his neck about like a periscope. It was a curious sight. He was checking for blind spots and detecting potential dangers. He sniffed around for unwelcoming scents, and noticed his green eyed co-star smelled anything but repugnant. He smelled of a crisp autumn scent, and he smelled good.

"You enjoy standing at the doorstep, don't you."

"What?" Ichigo exclaimed. "No—I'm just checking out the surroundings! The luxury of living in a famous neighborhood. Ha, and the air outside is fresher anyway!"

"Unlike many, I simply do not possess the leisure and luxury to spring homosexual traps on you," Ulquiorra replied, and discarded a bored glance at his co-star.

"H-Ho...mo..." Ichigo grew frighteningly red as he spluttered out meaningless syllables. "O-Of course I wouldn't worry about that, stupid!" Which then meant he worried tons about that.

Ulquiorra knew his comments unnerved the younger man, and perhaps, for people of his kind, riling them up and keeping them on their toes was the only feasible method for marked improvements. He could give it a try, and he was rather sure it would bear fruit.

 

* * *

 

"You...you live..." Ichigo was a hopeless stammer with popped eyes. "In t-t-this p..place?"

By this place, he meant an absurdly spacious apartment, no, make that a penthouse suite, fit for a family of ten or more. It had two stories, and employed a squarish but open concept. Clearly his co-star adored simplicity—the interior design was regal but never overdone. It was tasteful for someone with poor makeup skills and personal style. The walls were painted a slate gray, the furniture laden with earthy tones, polished beige marble for the floor, and the lined curtains drawn. It made for a dim atmosphere, unnaturally cozy and welcoming. Then there was the home entertainment system with state of the art features. And there was Wii.

_Good old fun Wii!_

Ichigo had expected the likes of his co-star to dwell in a crammed studio apartment with only a bed that doubled as a sofa, and a computer for interaction. There would be no TV, no stereo, because it would be deemed as 'trashy' entertainment, and there would be shelves of books. They were a reflection of Ulquiorra's character: deep, introspective, unfathomable, thick, frigid. Maybe one day in his sleep the books would topple from the shelves and crush him silly.

But this, was too much. A penthouse suite at the top level of a condominium estate in the middle of Roppongi Hills screamed all but frugality. The rental cost could easily worked up to millions of yen, and then there were the furniture. _The furniture!_ Staidly, sturdy wooden structures for the settee, soft cashmere rugs on the seats, and oil paintings of famous landmarks, fabled and actual alike, hanging from the walls, encased in transparent glass frames. It lent an emphasized flourish to the minimalistic décor, and looked as refined as a 5-star hotel lounge. That was what it was—impersonal; there were no personal touches, no traces of who could have resided there. No photographs, no mementos, no keepsakes. Not a magazine out of place, not a speckle of dirt discovered on the surfaces. It was functional and easy on the senses, for visiting passengers and no more. Even if Ichigo were to dig through layers of brick and mortar, the house probably was soulless at its core.

_Much like its owner actually_ , Ichigo smirked, _cold, heartless cad._

"I seldom come down here," said Ulquiorra, as if reading his co-star's thoughts. "It doesn't look very lived in, does it?"

Ichigo whirled around to face Ulquiorra, who stood a little too close for comfort. The tips of their noses touched, and both stepped away from each other with gazes widened in veiled shock. Ichigo leaped backward, Ulquiorra spun the other way. It was the day's first awkward moment.

"Where's the rest of your family?" asked Ichigo, red faced, as he continued to scan masses of space with a keen eye. There could be traps lying around, and Ulquiorra Schiffer had already proved his value as a devastating liar. All actors are, especially the award winning ones.

"I live alone."

"No way!" Ichigo was an open book. "Then why do you need such a huge ass apartment for? To store your appreciating ego?"

Ulquiorra nearly rolled his eyes. "I don't know how else to spend my money."

"You didn't rent it?" Ichigo choked, and his eyes bulged. "How can you _not_ rent it?"

"Paid the full amount," Ulquiorra's lips curled. "Up front."

"R-Really..." Ichigo's curious mouth was itching to ask the answer. He too earned quite a sum, but when compared to his co-star, he felt like a dwarf walking amongst giants. "How much do you earn in a year?"

"More than you can ever fetch," said Ulquiorra, and Ichigo swore he caught the man sneering. It was most distasteful.

"Big deal!" he huffed. "So what? Money comes and goes. As long as it's enough, what gives?"

"You asked for it," Ulquiorra rebutted, and whipped a piece of paper off the designer coffee table. He slammed the paper against Ichigo's forehead. "Read this, and make sure you adhere to them. If you don't, show yourself out the door. One more thing, when you're done, go through the discs in the box. Only when all's done do you knock on my door, and I repeat, when they're _all_ thoroughly done. My room is upstairs. I'll be busy."

Ichigo refrained from retaliation, and sported a contrived attempt to smile. "Busy with perfecting your horrible makeup techniques? Sure, sure."

"I mean it."

That caught the carrot top off guard. "Eh? No—aren't we supposed to work on this together?"

"I'm already providing a free service to you," said Ulquiorra. "What more do you want?"

"You can't just throw me here with this paper and that box?" Ichigo was frantic. "And what discs are we talking about?"

"Watch and learn, fool. If you want to be considered as my co-star, work for it."

And naturally Ichigo was incensed. Like a stray mongrel fizzing with rabies, he barked:

"I'm no slag, I'll tell you that! Oi, you listening? Hey you rude—"

As would a stray mongrel lurking by the drainage, he was left with nothing but air and howled at nothing but the moon, for Ulquiorra could never shake off his habit of walking away while someone ranted their hearts out at him. It was chronic. Anything considered a waste of his time shouldn't be entertained.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Ulquiorra Schiffer's list was no good thing. It read like The Ten Commandments, only worse. It was far more unreasonable, and way too absurd. There was nothing religious about the list too.

It went like this:

** Letter Of Agreement **

 

1\. If you do not agree to any of the following, place this back on the table, and leave silently. Do not kick up a fuss. I have a katana in my room.

2\. I hold sole ownership of this property. Any disagreements will be judged in favor of yours truly.

3\. Should you visit the washroom, place the seat cover down after use.

4\. Remember to flush (very important).

5\. Switch off all appliances after use.

6\. Put all items back into their place after use.

7\. If you wish to stay for lunch, prepare my share too.

8\. You are not allowed to stay for dinner, or anytime after 6pm.

9\. All additional charges will be incurred by you, and made payable latest by the next afternoon.

10\. Be punctual.

11\. You are liable for any delay in progress.

12\. Nicknames of any sort are unacceptable.

13\. This contract is valid for 3 weeks, starting from today. Once signed, there is no termination.

14\. Should you flagrantly or persistently fail to observe and perform any of the stipulated tasks, the program will immediately be terminated.

 

* * *

 

Ichigo laughed out loud at Ulquiorra's ridiculous mentality, and thought he might suffer from Obsessive-compulsive Disorder. _What was he on when he typed this?!_ So he laughed even louder, and re-read the list to squeeze out more humor. He was walking on water. Then abruptly he stopped in mid-laugh, remembering with bleary unwillingness he was at his co-star's mercy. Within seconds he had made a round trip to Heaven and back. He now felt like a domestic helper, and he brought this onto himself. So he signed above the line, sighed like a defeated warrior, cursed his luck, sighed some more, and depressed the paper before chucking it onto a random chair. The paper sailed for a while before settling in some random corner, and he felt pleased for littering in Ulquiorra's house. Already he had began his rebellion, albeit of the tiniest measure.

Finally the mysterious box on the coffee table caught his fancy, and he began to sift through it. Chucking the lid aside like a Frisbee (his second littering act), Ichigo gaped at the contents, which were tidily laid and labeled. He had expected sheets and sheets of paper detailing various methods to 'masterful acting', and perhaps a supremely tiresome tape or two. The jury was still out on the latter. What lay in the box were several DVD-Rs, each slotted into a jewel case, and as expected of Ulquiorra, there was an instruction sheet lying at the bottom. It told him to view the discs in order: strictly the first three, and only the first three. He was to re-watch them until he was sorely familiar with the content.

Ulquiorra's expensive stereo system allowed for a maximum of six discs to be placed in the tray, and happily the orange haired man lay three discs there, glad he wouldn't have to get up every now and then to have the discs switched. He pushed 'Play', but the TV screen indicated nothing. He tried again, and obtained the same result. No way could it be his lack of understanding regarding technological products, so it had to be Ulquiorra's fault, hands down.

"Hey corpse fac-Ulquiorra!" Ichigo called from where he was. He sometimes forgot how loud he could be. "Oi! Your sleek DVD player ain't working! Bet you paid a fortune for it eh? Got ripped off, ha!"

The door upstairs swung open with an annoyed grunt. "Have you turned on the main switch?"

"Obviously they are coated in invisible paint," said Ichigo, dryly. He hadn't, and he wasn't going to be found out.

"It's there—45 degrees left of the cabinet, and always has been there."

"No, you dirty liar. Where—oh." Ichigo noticed the switch was right under his nose. No way was he going to admit his dire lack of observational skills. "Found it. You sure know how to make life _easy_ for yourself," he added nastily.

The door whammed shut in response.

 

* * *

 

The first disc was an introduction to expressing oneself via body language, and it expended two morning hours with ease. Ichigo smirked throughout, and gave himself forty winks when he was certain Ulquiorra wouldn't pop by any given minute. Not that he was afraid of the green eyed man, but the repercussions if he were to be caught slacking this early. He knew his demanding co-star would never go easy on him, and there could be unknown traps lying about the house. He had to be on his guard, so he woke up in disgruntlement to play the second disc.

Sadly it was no better than the first, and was a colorless prolongation. Ichigo's head began to lop about dizzily, and he folded himself up like a mattress, arms wrapped around his knees, and fell into a dreamy slumber. He dreamed he was honored with Best Actor at the 2010 Japan Academy Awards, ahead of Ulquiorra who appeared glum even in Ichigo's phantasmagorical world, and all the other faceless men who sneered at him during the audition. He gave a breathtaking speech, was awarded with standing ovations, and a million bulbs flashed in his face. But he minded them not; he was perched at the top of the world, punching the air with a victorious shake of his statuette, and made a few well-crafted jokes at his co-star's expense. Everyone laughed along with him, and at Ulquiorra the pathetic loser. They shook his hand and pleaded with him to participate in their next big project. They promised him greater stardom, fatter salaries, better packages, hotter women, faster cars. With a humble shake of his head, Ichigo denied the world he was to be given, and said,

"Thank you for your generous offers, kind Sirs, but I'd like to embark on a journey of self-discovery. Not just as an actor seeking a path, but as a human being, too."

"What about fame then? You can't possibly give it up now, don't you? Strike while the iron's hot!" they urged with money signs flashing in their eyes.

"The worst thing that can ever happen to an actor is fame," Ichigo answered with a sagely nod. "He who is without trivial pursuits shall attain Nirvana."

All was good, and none suffered.

No sooner was the soundly asleep Ichigo jolted back to reality with a heavy tap on his shoulder. Being delirious he shrugged it off, and pivoted to the other side. Ichigo figured if he kept up with his pretense, perhaps the irritating taps would go away. He knew who it was, since there was hardly anyone else in the house. He also understood what might happen, but he couldn't care less. Sleep was dominant, and sleep made him slobber.

But Ulquiorra persisted, and as he continued to tap away, his jade gaze grew more ferocious. Still nothing happened. So he resorted to the last strategic maneuver.

A kick.

He launched a mild kick at Ichigo's abdomen, sufficient to alert and not hurt. Ulquiorra was never one for violence, unless absolutely mandatory. This was the time, and these were his feelings. He was more than infuriated, and he didn't invite Ichigo to his house for a nap.

Ichigo must have had nerves of steel, for he not only treated the kick as a gentle nudge in the navel, and more so, latched onto Ulquiorra's foot like a bolster. The green eyed man tipped forward, a pendulum ticking away, and for the second time in his life, he found himself sprawled atop his co-star. Unwanted stances aside, their legs interlocked with each other, and Ulquiorra wound up stumbling onto Ichigo again. They were cheek to cheek, with the younger man pinned under, unable to move. He was now fully awake, what with Ulquiorra slamming into him twice and having that small mouth hover above his.

It was the day's second awkward moment.

"I want my lunch," said Ulquiorra, before untangling himself from the bedlam, and let his bashful co-star wriggle free. "After which, we'd begin work on our parts."

"Can't you do it yourself? I'm not a servant!" Ichigo cried. "And—"

"I am _busy,"_ Ulquiorra dumped two packets of instant ramen on the younger man's lap. "This is our lunch for today."

 

* * *

 

They ate lunch in silence mostly, and at shockingly fast speeds. Ulquiorra was starving, and ravished his bowl of instant ramen with aplomb. He wasn't counting on Ichigo to do as he said, but the younger man did, and prepared two bowls of steaming ramen. Ichigo had set them neatly on the table. On the side was a pair of chopsticks perched above colored stones, and as a bonus for getting through the morning, Ichigo cracked an egg each to go along with the soup base.

"Never knew you eat like a vulture," Ichigo snickered. "Is it that delicious?"

"I was hungry, but now I'm alright," Ulquiorra spooned some soup into his mouth, and slurped it down quietly. He made a mental reminder to prepare his ramen as Ichigo did the next time.

"What are you really busy with?" Ichigo set his chopsticks down and assumed a grave look. "I mean, really. Stupid jokes aside."

"If you really _are_ interested to know, I suggest you—"

"Look. I'm being absolutely serious and don't you try to snipe at me. I may forgive," Ichigo frowned and wagged a finger, "but I don't ever forget."

"I won't," Ulquiorra nearly smiled. Ichigo's bark was way worse than his bite. "I'm just engaged in some project."

"Can you get any more cryptic?"

"I can try."

Ichigo was suddenly reminded of the cat he never saw. "Where is it," he demanded with mettle. "You're too old to have an imaginary pet."

"You'll see her if she feels the need to grace you with her presence," said Ulquiorra, as he got up and carried his plate to the sink. Instead of washing it, he took a porcelain bowl from the cupboard, filled it with milk, and brought it upstairs. Minutes later, the bowl was brought down, soundlessly left in the sink, and a grumbling Ichigo washed them all. He wasn't told to do so, but somehow his domestic responsibilities hit him hard. He truly felt like a maid, minus the Dutch Lady-esque apron and head scarf.

 

* * *

 

Come Tuesday was when Ichigo finally had the rarest of chances to meet up with Ulquiorra's legendary pet kitty. It was a normal incident. Both actors were in the living room, going through their lines with dramatic dazzle. Because it was any given morning, they had to trade the usual banter. Ulquiorra with his underhanded criticism, Ichigo with his dauntless counterarguments. Somewhere inbetween was work actually done. And sometime inbetween Sakana made her fervently anticipated entrance.

She trooped down the stairs like a pageant queen, obviously spoiled by Ulquiorra. Her tail hung high as she forged a way to her owner, then sniffed at the orange haired intruder with diffidence.

"Trash, meet Sakana," Ulquiorra scooped the cat into his arms. "Sakana, meet trash."

"Go to hell, you! And, _Sakana_?" Ichigo asked with great incredulity. "Says a lot about its owner. An owner who names his pet after food!"

"Well," the usually placid Ulquiorra was touchy when it came to Sakana. He felt the need to defend their pride—both his and his pet's. "It was the first dish she had."

Ichigo bowled over in laughter. "Cats eat fish, and that's a god given right! You can't expect it to yap around for pork ribs! And what if it does? What are you gonna call it? Porky Rinds? Kiss my ass!"

"Do not insult Sakana," Ulquiorra snapped, "a dog is nothing compared to her."

 

* * *

 

Indeed all was good, and none suffered. The status quo assumed its steady maintenance, and stayed so after lunch. Then everything escalated downhill, and some suffered. Ichigo, bloated with homemade bento, dozed off a few times when Ulquiorra was upstairs in his room, being the busy bumblebee he was. He slept through the next two discs, read a bit of Autumn Chrysalis, made some notes, scribbled on the script, and went back to nurse his head, swollen with sleep. His best friend in the residence was now the Bottega Veneta quilted cushion. He hugged it lovingly as he slumbered. It was the coziest thing since the aged pillow from his childhood days.

The next thing he knew was waking up to not Ulquiorra planting a foot in his stomach, but a ginger cat pawing at his thigh, before purring skittishly and lifted a hind leg. In a blur Ichigo's mind failed to register anything. What he felt was moisture garnering on his cult label jeans, which his skin absorbed and parried into the nerve system.

His brain zipped awake.

"The hell?" Ichigo swiped haplessly at the wet spot on his jeans, and looked on with hysteria as the spot grew in circumference. "What just happened?"

"She has taken a liking to you," Ulquiorra hid a smile at Ichigo's swift misanthropic conduct. "Consider it an honor."

 

* * *

 

Ichigo emerged from the toilet reeking of cat piss, and it pissed him off further. He couldn't possibly remove his jeans in someone's house—and it had to be Ulquiorra Schiffer's. What was he going to walk around in then? His boxers? That was too much; too provocative. He still wasn't absolutely sure of Ulquiorra's true character. For all he knew, the latter could be a closeted homosexual with undisclosed desires. Until today Ulquiorra Schiffer's endeavors behind the door remained a mystery.

His jeans weighed him down, as denim soaked in soap and water typically did. The moisture seeped into his skin too, and his thighs were growing wrinkly. He felt utterly miserable, and it wasn't even Thursday yet. He couldn't scream 'Thank God Friday's Coming!' from the window. He wanted to thrash Ulquiorra's house for no particular reason. Then he remembered any damages would be borne by his check book.

"Change into this," Ulquiorra held out a clean, dry pair of beige slacks. "You'll catch a cold, and disrupt the schedule like the trashy prick you are."

The younger man could sense those invasive pink plumes swirling in on his co-star, and quickly he shook his head to dispel them.

"You don't want them? Fine." Ulquiorra couldn't had been more mistaken.

"No," Ichigo's hand shot out to grab the other's wrist. "I want, I mean, err, the slacks."

"For a moment I thought you were out of your mind as usual."

By then the carrot top's legs were shaking, and he waited no more for the denim to cling onto his skin like frostbite. He unbuttoned the top of his jeans, slipped them off in such a hurry that his boxers nearly joined in the cascading fall down his legs. It escaped Ichigo's notice, but nothing could steal away from Ulquiorra's watchful gaze. The latter frowned imperceptibly as his co-star's boxers continued to linger dangerously on the hips, threatening to slide free anytime. The elastic band seemed loose too. It disturbed him greatly.

"I disallow obscenity in this house," Ulquiorra proffered a helpful finger at Ichigo's misbehaving boxers.

"What?" Ichigo's teeth clattered, but his cheeks puffed in temperature. "It's not as if you haven't seen me almost naked before." He hastily pulled up his boxers and stepped into the offered slacks. Instantly he felt safe and warm. _But!_ This was Ulquiorra's garb, he reminded himself, and no way in flipping hell was he going to feel as he rightly felt. Shrugging off the overriding waves of comfort, Ichigo welcomed the heat creeping back into his bones. The source of the heat unsettled him.

"You overestimate yourself," Ulquiorra replied stiffly, before picking up Sakana and together, they left for the living room.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday proved to be challenging, as Ulquiorra declared, by the power of his schedule, they were set to tackle the thorny issue: their appalling lack of comfort with each other. Going through dialogues and appropriate facial expressions was a mild sea breeze compared to this. To Ulquiorra, a thorny issue equated a bundle of troubles, and anything that couldn't be resolved with a direct blow spoke of unending knots.

It was so knotty that Ulquiorra hadn't a proper clue himself. Not that he wasn't able to handle the subject with his chilly flair, but the very unpredictable nature of Kurosaki Ichigo worked up a storm in his head. There were many factors to consider, and he was frank to admit he didn't wish to forge a conducive working relationship with Ichigo, only to have him replaced by a foreign entity. He had to be cautious; not to save Ichigo's skin, but his—and that was his main preoccupation. Although, he would very much like to see the brash young man blossom into the actor he could become. That he kept it hush-hush. No one but Sakana knew.

What were his plans then?

Should he go all out in the first practice or take it slow? Should he nurture their physical comfort with each other or disregard it completely? To start with a peck, or a full-blown make-out session? Which of them? They were both guys, and there shouldn't be any problem in the first place. They were both guys, and that was where the problem arose.

Alas Ulquiorra had only one brain, and it wheedled away at him to be fastidious. However, it didn't make him any more informed. He would have to scrape existing schedules and create new plans as they went along.

 

* * *

 

Both actors began by viewing discs five and six, which for their innocent mirror-like bodies displayed images entirely of a different bearing. Ichigo was as naïve as a lamb, but Ulquiorra knew otherwise. After all he had created the discs for educational purposes—they were to be used for negative teaching examples.

So Ichigo figured he was watching just another love movie, given the soft imagery of the film's introduction and soaring notes crashing against mellow undertones. When it opened with two naked men squirming in the dark, moaning and grunting in released pleasure, did Ichigo know he was in for a real treat.

"What do you think of it?" Ulquiorra asked halfway through the movie, his cool jade eyes firmly fixed upon Ichigo.

"W-W-What do you mean by what do I think of it?" Ichigo countered, and bravely returned the stare. It was his first time watching a gay romance movie, and his companion was now looking him up and down like they were in an interrogation room. He felt like a suspect; he felt like he deserved a list of criminal charges to be filed against him for stammering.

"I ought to have placed it in simpler terms for a simpleton. Say, what do you think if we were them? In the movie, that's what I'm saying."

Ichigo turned his attention back to the TV screen. The two lovers were stripping and making out on the bed for the trillionth time, but he felt it lacked something. And definitely it had to lack something because he wasn't averting his glance. He watched them getting all over each other like a National Geographic documentary. There was nothing remotely sexy about it.

"I think we'd do...better?" he offered tentatively.

Ulquiorra cocked his head. "You observed something was sorely amiss in those scenes too?"

"Yeah, who doesn't?" Ichigo snorted in faux alarm. "If you want to do a love scene you have to do it right! Passion is the key! Without it you'll just look like those...them...bland and constricted, and, then what's the point? I mean, there's no logic in rubbing two dry twigs together and hoping it could catch fire, and," he halted when he realized he got a little too descriptive, "no no no. That wasn't what I meant. It's like going through the motions, like a routine, y'know? But I'm sure someone as bloody smart as you can understand. If you don't, then too bad. Sucks to be you."

"That description was unnecessary," Ulquiorra bristled. "Completely and entirely."

"Because you have such a dire lack of imagination, I'd have to throw that in!" Ichigo laughed scornfully. Inwardly his guts stretched into messy ribbons. "By logic, good old logic, when you make love with someone it shows how willing and desperate both are for each other, right? Simple."

"As peanuts?"

"But of course," Ichigo lifted his head. He was embracing his declaration of being earnest. "This time I mean it. I'm absolutely serious! There's no way I will allow for something as blindingly easy as physical scenes to get me kicked out. Not even _you_ can do that!"

"Glad you understand," said Ulquiorra. He loved it when people incorporated the use of 'logic' into their words. It showed they were thinking, and not just speculating wildly. Never mind the implied insult at the end. He was better than that.

Slowly the corners of Ulquiorra's large eyes crinkled, and he crept from his seat to where Ichigo was at. He wondered if his co-star could walk the talk. He placed himself near the younger man, and lowered himself so they became level with each other. And then he moved even closer, warm breath beating down on Ichigo's left cheek, and trickled to the tip of his chin. It grew denser as Ulquiorra drew nearer, until Ichigo could feel the flicker of his co-star's thick lashes upon his dewy skin.

_One flicker. Two flickers. Three, four, five._ _Six flickers. Seven, eight, nine, ten._

Ulquiorra's blinks had the sprightly tremble of a hummingbird's wings; a rush of wind and, nimbly like a tender heartbeat.

Ichigo didn't flinch an inch; he knew it was a test, and he wanted to ace it. Surely he had gotten hang of Ulquiorra's eccentric habits by now, and he wasn't going to succumb to them like an unsuspecting bunny. He wanted to prove he was much above that, and he wasn't going to lose in this unofficial competition of whatever Ulquiorra had deemed to be. He already had fallen victim many times over.

The orange haired man leaned forward, brown orbs brazen with competitiveness, and stared his co-star down. If he hadn't jerked while he shifted himself into a more comfortable position, he wouldn't have tipped Ulquiorra's balance, and the green eyed man wouldn't have keeled over backwards on the cashmere rug. And they wouldn't be squashed up against each other's bodies like a bottle of trapped flies, bug-eyed and vulnerable.

When he went down as if gunned by a sniper, Ulquiorra wished he had taken up yoga or gymnastics as a child. That way he could cease the endless tumbling onto the ground with Ichigo. They were a see-saw in the playground; one minute he was up and Ichigo was down, the next minute he was stranded beneath the latter.

_Could this be retribution?_ Ulquiorra sighed, and if that were the case, then he was due another tumbling blocks session with the carrot top.

"Ha!" Ichigo scoffed wildly. "I dominate!"

Ulquiorra's eyes mirrored his understated shock at the brash one's choice of words. "Do not use that word when we are in such a...a..."

"Never knew you stutter, Ulquiorra Schiffer, King of Eloquent Cut-throat Insults. What would the world think of you now?"

"I didn't," Ulquiorra denied. "Just don't use _that_ word in any situation, moron."

"Why not? You lost the eyeball challenge, corpse—ay whatever, and to say I _dominated_ wasn't any wrong! If anything you're jealous that I won a pisscake game," Ichigo hadn't realized he was almost straddling his co-star's hips. He was over the moon with his debut victory, and nothing else hammered his senses, "of which you started."

"If only you could shut your trap and open your eyes, imbecile, you would realize you're making this situation extremely uncomfortable for one of us. The one who is aware that is," said Ulquiorra. He was having difficulty in speaking from where he lay. "And unfortunately that person isn't you."

Ichigo, being a wee dense in the head, had sense knocked into his head at last. Pretty words did nothing to dent his armored brain, but lofty affronts did. They were in a position so awkward, that should Ichigo's butt twitch he'd inevitably give his uninspired co-star a good, dry case of the humps.

Thankfully none of that happened, and unlike Ichigo's sudden self-awareness, Ulquiorra's mind was free from crazy voyaging. He carried on as though nothing happened, viewing the next disc—of far superior quality than its predecessor, and analyzed every single lovemaking aspect to death. From the fiery sensuality of the LCD screen, it transgressed into the most mundane of actions. It was even drier than Ichigo's analogy of two twigs rubbing against each other.

Meanwhile at the other end of the living room, Ichigo grew as scarlet as a ripe tomato. He was there for the picking.


	14. Love? Love.

Love was not in the air when half of the week flitted past stretched fingers. Love was nowhere near, not the most paltry blooming of flowers even. Love was not to be spoken of between Ichigo and the metallic bedpost his arm crashed into.

That night he dreamed an extension of the glorious mirage three days before, only to have it replaced by a winged demon chomping it into bits. His legs carried him as far as they could, beyond the reach of the demon, and beyond the edge of darkness. Sand crumbled beneath his feet and suddenly the ground opened up. He headed for the longest fall in his life, and halfway he saw Ulquiorra waving at him. The latter flew away to safety in a flashy red parachute. Ichigo continued to plunge towards a nameless destination with arms flailing and legs shaking.

Love escaped Ulquiorra when the play pen he constructed for his pet collapsed into a heap of wood work and shavings and nails. It was near completion, alas cats have no wish to be entrapped by borders. Sakana refused to go near it, and Ulquiorra resorted to painting the pen orange, thinking it complemented his pet's fur. It worked—sort of. Sakana wandered into the pen at last, and Ulquiorra in his stony eagerness tried to pat his cat in gratefulness. As for the aftermath it was history. A history that needed no love of memory.

 

* * *

 

Thursday was when Ichigo thirsted for bacon, and tasted Ulquiorra's lips puckered upon his. It happened when he was at last granted access to his co-star's room, and Ichigo, born of nosy genes, peeked about the room as though he was a visitor in a tiger's fearsome cage. There was no tiger but a ginger cat, stretched imperiously across the scattered debris formerly known as a play pen. She yawned, waved a lackluster paw, and leaped onto Ulquiorra's bed, then promptly dozed off under the charcoal gray sheets.

"So this was what you were busy with?" Ichigo asked, amused by his co-star's unsuccessful endeavor. "Good going, Sakana!"

"Evidently she prefers it undone," Ulquiorra stroked his cat and arranged the pillows to make her more comfortable.

If Ulquiorra's living room held the solidarity of a graveyard, then his bedroom was a monochromatic wonderland. His bed was of a classically decorated Park Avenue four poster design, the comforter black with an inner lining of white. Under the bed was a pair of bedroom slippers. On the bed were four pillows of a muted brown, cushy and snug. The headboard had four by four square cushioned panels, black, and contrasted with the cream wall. It was a great looking combination of form and function, with a intricate focus on style. Beside the bed were two table tops in leather and profiled in matte gunmetal, their intrecciato weaving screamed Bottega Veneta. That Ichigo could tell instantly. Being cooped up in Ulquiorra's house for three consecutive days had him up his education in contemporary home design.

Ichigo hated to admit this, but Ulquiorra's room oozed a distinct flair that exudes understated beauty and class. The tawny carpeted floor, the furry ivory rugs; each of them was a factor. Then there was the autumnal scent wearing itself subtle on its owner. The longer Ichigo stayed in there, the more pleasant he found it.

"So I can now postulate the stage of readiness you are in," said Ulquiorra. "Since you've completed the discs, I suppose we can commence on what you severely lack in."

"I think I need to lie down," Ichigo strode over to the maroon couch. "Or have bacon. Or eat bacon lying down. That sounds like fun."

Ulquiorra grabbed the younger man's knapsack, and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud. "No consumption of food here. Do it downstairs, in the dining area. You can lie down on the floor and wipe it with the back of the shirt, if you wish."

"I bet you still haven't got over the fact I puked all over you once," Ichigo quickly unzipped the knapsack to check for food spoilage. There was none, much to his relief. He turned to Ulquiorra with a glower. "What are you gonna do if the food spills out? Charge me for lunch? Petty ass."

"I did fine to acquit myself with the unforeseen circumstances," Ulquiorra sniffled. "Need you not worry for me, but more for _yourself_. As for the food, yes, I will credit it to your name accordingly."

"Go ahead, stingy. I may not be the richest man around, but I'm a man of my word," Ichigo bounded for the bed and took a hard bounce on it. The pillows jumped in tandem, and the orange haired man reached for one, before taking another calculated bounce. He wanted to test the springiness of the mattress. If it was elastic enough, he might consider getting one for himself.

Ulquiorra saw the fiendish act as a signal that he was ready, and prepared himself likewise. Gravitating towards Ichigo, his arm snuck around said man's waist, and reined him in.

At the unforeseen contact Ichigo resembled a frightened deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, and progressed into a fatal victim of hit and run when Ulquiorra swooped in to plant those thin lips on his. Because his nerves had torched and died, he couldn't react. He lay in the green eyed man's embrace, frozen, and inadvertently found himself pressed against the pillows, their plushness buckling under pressure and left the poor man sinking in. He offered zero resistance, brown eyes agape in horror when Ulquiorra hadn't let go.

Luckily Ulquiorra knew when to stop—it was up there on the billboards with tiny garish lights flickering, hollering at him to cease the futile kiss. And so he did. He pulled away, almost disgusted at Ichigo's inability to handle what he had promised prior.

"So you've made little headway after all," Ulquiorra dabbed at his lips with clean tissue. "For that, I'd expect more of you tomorrow. If not."

"If not..." Ichigo repeated in a daze. "If not..."

An assassin's lour lacerated across Ulquiorra's face. " _If not_."

 

* * *

 

Thursday left and Friday knocked on the door with love. So did Ichigo, when he ruptured his co-star's eardrums by pressing on the doorbell nonstop. He was a man with a vengeance for Saturday to come, and he brought with him several Tupperware. They contained his post-breakfast snacks, his lunch, and his afternoon tea. Ichigo figured though his soul may suffer, he couldn't allow the same predicament for his tummy. And it was Friday for feck's sake! After which he could enjoy the weekend, free from the bothersome Ulquiorra, free from piss spilling ginger cats, free from soul sucking DVD-Rs, free from being holed up in a lovely house.

"So what we are doing today?" asked Ichigo. Sakana sprung to the settee from where she napped, and daintily sniffed at the carrot top's leg with soft mews. Ulquiorra shot his beloved cat a traitorous glare.

"Come here, Sakana," he gestured. The cat purred and continued to nuzzle Ichigo's leg in feline affection.

"Nobody loves you, Ulquiorra Schiffer," Ichigo grinned, and bent down to scratch the ginger cat's head. It evoked a purr of satisfaction. "Everybody hates you, na naa na naa, and it's Friday! Seems like Sakana-chan here has grown attached to me in the space of days, and seems like you're green with envy. Oh! Can we have a game of Wii later? I'm certain your game set is rusting from an avalanche of dust."

"Not a chance," said Ulquiorra. He walked over and picked his cat up, and placed her at the veranda. "Stay here until lunchtime, you hear me? Otherwise don't blame me for being merciless."

"Whoa," Ichigo gasped in mock astonishment. "You're mean even to your pet! Need you be so vindictive? Can't a kitty spread some love around? She must be crap bored, facing you the whole day. So when I show up and she displays an ounce of joy, you whack it right out of her paws. Tsk tsk. So Ulquiorra bloody Schiffer's a wet blanket, and a dastardly, possessive spoilsport."

To this Ulquiorra issued a laconic reply. "She isn't exactly reciprocating either."

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra Schiffer held great importance in hygiene levels, and spared no expenses when the situation called for it. His ridiculously big house was spic and span, and everything was in its place. Mess was not something he tolerated, and that included those microscopic bacteria in existence.

"I clean during the weekends," said Ulquiorra, as he placed two pillows side by side.

"Liar," Ichigo countered. "You hire a housekeeper and refuse to pay her wages. You made her sign one of those stupid contracts too, right? Right."

"It was specially drafted for you."

"Yeah yeah," Ichigo flapped a loose hand. "Seriously speaking, and I'm being extremely serious here, how can you not hire a housekeeper?! You claim to be reaaaalllly rich right? You a second generation scrooge?"

"I will not entertain the likes of strangers entering my personal abode."

"Ooh, touchy. But here I am! I am here! And guess who beseeched me to pop by? Care to furnish me with an explanation? Or..." Ichigo trailed off with a sneaky glint to his eyes. "Sometimes the vivacity of my imagination runs away with me."

"Because..." Ulquiorra began, fumbling for a reason. If he were to say what was on his mind—that he reckoned Ichigo to be a gunnysack of potential, it would undoubtedly up the latter's ego levels. People with attention grabbing hair colors tend to fall victim to self-aggrandizement.

"Because...?"

"Because."

"What the heck is that supposed to be? Just _because_ negative and negative equate positive, it doesn't necessarily mean anything else. And definitely not because and because," Ichigo shook his head. "Two because don't equate a justification."

"Because," Ulquiorra answered firmly. "That is all there is to it."

"I see. I think I finally get it..." Ichigo mimicked his co-star's faltering tone. "Suppose..."

"Suppose what?"

Ichigo's mouth transformed into a wicked smirk. It was his turn to create an indecipherable gargle of words. "Suppose you're growing fond of me? But ay, because you're such a typical cold jerk you act all weird towards what your heart says, which then again you don't have to act a single scene because you are born with eccentricities in your blood. Eccentrics do incomprehensible things and I suppose, that's where I can find some appropriate speculation for your behavior. Stuffs like that can keep me up all night, just so you know. And that is to mean, unless you tell me why, I may or may not put forth my best foot. Because I haven't got sufficient sleep."

"Open your mouth, keep it shut, and stick your tongue out," Ulquiorra commanded in the most dismissive voice. "There's something I need to inspect before we exchange 98% water, 2% electrolytes, mucus, antibacterial compounds and various enzymes."

"You mean saliva," Ichigo said. He understood he was getting no response from the green eyed man. "We're not having a biology class, y'know. And you are no professor nor doctor."

"So you know," Ulquiorra gripped the younger man's jaws and forced them open. "You've upgraded from unworthy garbage lying by the roadside with no sweeper willing to take you in, to litter in a bin."

"Hooray!" Ichigo mocked through squeezed jaws. "The son of a doctor has finally proved his worth to a premed dropout!" His tongue slid out cheekily in response, and Ulquiorra grasped the chance to examine Ichigo's tongue. The carrot top failed the stringent test he was admitted into.

"Go to the washroom. There's a bottle of mouthwash on the cabinet above the basin. Gargle and rinse it out before you speak to me again."

"What?" Ichigo squawked, and huffed his breath into enclosed palms. "I don't have bad breath! You really are nuts, bloody pasty face! What's there to nitpick?"

"The ends of your tongue are thickly coated in white," Ulquiorra recited. "It is a possible indication of digestive trouble and retention of food."

"So? It's my problem," Ichigo argued. He was sensitive about his oral habits and would accept no feedback—positive or negative, with regards to them.

"Your brain demonstrates its gross incompetence, I believe," the green eyed man wiped his hand with tissue, then discarded it. "I wouldn't want to be infected with what is acknowledged as your very own problem. I like my meals, thank you very much."

 

* * *

 

"Do you have any causes for concern?" asked Ulquiorra, as Ichigo spat the mouthwash into the wash basin.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Ichigo cupped both hands over his mouth and exhaled. It was minty. "Causes for concern? As in? Are you gonna get off on my so called 'bad breath' again? Or what? Digestive problems? O Great Doctor! Remind me to stuff my face with garlic and onions the next time we do this. I guess I'd enjoy seeing you passing out, and duh, your reaction to ammonia salts. It'd be priceless, no? And I'll have my camera in hand to file that away, ha ha."

"What I really mean is," Ulquiorra sat on the edge of the bed, and slipped his feet in and out of the bedroom slippers carelessly. "Putting it in your language—are there any no-go areas? For example, actions not accepted by you, beyond your principles, or specific erogenous zones you'd prefer me not to touch."

"Err," Ichigo exercised his verbal facility. "I'm OK with it. Anything. Just do it."

"Are you sure?" Ulquiorra's questioning tone made Ichigo raise a brow. "There's no going back on this once we begin properly."

"Hey—" the carrot top began to panic when he realized it was due time to swap copious amounts of spit with Ulquiorra. "No tongue!"

"That's one. Anymore?"

"Yeah, let me think will you? Sheesh," said Ichigo, "oh, and do not! Do not go anywhere near here!" He motioned at his crotch, and glared at Ulquiorra, ensuring he got the point. "And wait, there's more!"

"How can one be so indecisive is quite beyond me. Seconds ago you were agreeable, now you're blowing smoke into a soap bubble. What's your decision?"

"Quit yapping, corpse face! I'm trying to think, alright? I wouldn't want to be wrongly molested—tell me, is that a crime?" Ichigo protested.

"It would have been fine if you haven't changed your mind like a woman before a staggering shelf of shoes," Ulquiorra retorted, and referenced his mother's irresolute habits.

"You instigated me to do so. You questioned my staunch belief, damn it!" Ichigo argued. Already he was having trouble determining the most sensitive areas in his body, and his co-star had to ignite a squabble at the most opportune moment.

"And here you are, resorting to time wasting tactics." Ulquiorra was getting crosser with every tick of the second hand. "Do you not understand your perilous stand in this matter?"

"Yeah, I don't. So? Explain why I'm here in your house then! In your _bedroom_ , with you sitting there and demanding I go rinse my mouth before we begin. And it helps, yeah it certainly _helps_ a bunch that you're as trustworthy as a snake and who's to know you won't be up to anything funny? On top of that you keep up with that apathetic face of yours!" Ichigo didn't know when to stop once he started the ball rolling. "Keep going, ace. Just go ahead and mar my innocence."

"Am I expected to give you emotional support?" Ulquiorra chastised. "This isn't an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and neither did I disallow you to make homesick phone calls to your girlfriend."

"G-Girl..." Ichigo sometimes cast the existence of the fake relationship to nowhere. "I'm not a baby, you stupid idiot."

"Then I presume this puts an end to our conversation. Let's start now," Ulquiorra got up and pulled Ichigo to the bed. He turned the younger man around, and inspected the cleanliness of his attire. Only after when all was done with great care, was Ichigo permitted to get onto the bed with Ulquiorra.

"Why the bed?!" Ichigo cried. "Bed?"

"I see that you prefer the floor."

"No, no. It's OK. The bed."

Ulquiorra gesticulated to a spot beside him. "Come here then."

"Don't go overboard," Ichigo warned as he backed against the tall, paneled head board. "I'll sue you for sexual assault if I have to."

"Have you looked yourself in the mirror lately?"

"Y...You—!" his outburst was cut short by Ulquiorra claiming his mouth without permission. "AFGHSDFMADSJDFJMDSWEF—" he cried muffled cries, and his tonsils battled tirelessly for oxygen. But the green eyed star wouldn't let him have his way. He plunged deeper into the impromptu kiss, his straight nose squashed against Ichigo's, his wet tongue flicking over the other's teeth, prodding to break down the stonewall defence. Soon as he did that, he was pushed away by a timorous Ichigo.

"No tongue, I said!" Ichigo gasped, complexion ruddy and breath spasmodic. _What the hell?! Too fast!_ "Never knew you're such a breaker of rules, Ulquiorra goddamn Schiffer."

"No good," Ulquiorra replied. Nothing could break his unfazed self. "And well, by tongue, I took it as no usage of it over other areas, save for the mouth. So you're offended by it—the tongue plundering your mouth, am I right to say?"

Ichigo had been kissed before, but to partake in a game of tonsil hockey with another male was something he had to think twice over. It wasn't just any other male, too. They did not have frustrating pink plumes forming part of their aura. "Yeah, but..."

"Bear in mind it's no longer about you, but the character you're set to play. I can understand if you were to state other claims, or if you were a woman. What you have, who's to say I do not, too? Thus this, your invalidated statements, is intelligence in its infancy."

"It's my mouth still," Ichigo hit back childishly. "And who's to say you can't kiss passionately without having a tongue stuck down your throat?"

"Have you forgotten what we've watched previously?" Ulquiorra's patience was running thin. "Cupping your lips over another pair and pretending to be involved in it is what it means: a showing of disconcerted effort. We're playing a pair of lovers who would at anytime, never see each other again. We need to capture the romance, the forbidden sort, and in its context of a tumultuous period. It is a bittersweet tragedy as you had written in your notes. It is no redundant high school drama, neither are we doing chaste scenes as would teenagers basking in puppy love. Allow me to clarify that, if you still, are suspended in disbelief."

"You insinuating I'm delusional?" Ichigo was up for a fight anytime now.

"In short, you're a _coward_ who can't give it up. An insufferable coward who tries to fly before he can even walk. If you can't handle the physicality required, why did you sign up in the first place? For laughable reasons, if I were so much to hazard a stab in the dark? In the end, you only bottle it."

"I'm not!" Ichigo burst out. "None of that! What do you know about me anyway? I'm up for anything. I repeat, _anything_!"

"You can't say things like that without having sound proof to back them up. Otherwise you're a victim of your own failings."

"Fine then! Whatever you wanna use, just use them all." Ichigo took the bait without qualms. Ulquiorra's comments were no derogatory bullshit, but he hated being labeled a coward when all he had was unthinking ebullience and a lion's all consuming courage. "But if you're gonna do some other, well, stuffs, at least warn me beforehand. That's the minimum I can ask of you. Fair game?"

"I did, but you're finally talking some sense, brainless ape. And before we are disrupted midway by any of your prudish exclamations, let me remind you that, in both the novel and screenplay, my character is the aggressor in the relationship."

"Who doesn't know?" Ichigo's mind was immediately filled with carnal literature. "Even a blind man can see that."

"That means you'd have to follow my lead."

 

* * *

 

They didn't get off to a congratulatory start, a tale seemingly written in the stars. Nothing between them ever began on the correct foot, nor was a step progressive in the designated direction, and for that many amendments were made. They couldn't find the mood—the lovey-dovey type. They couldn't do it right either. Whenever one was set to build up, like a castle of cards it was ruined in quick succession. One frequent fidget granted by Ichigo, and a topping of Ulquiorra's incisive critique easily exceeded their control span. A story of mutual, unsaid, tragic love suddenly became an abusive relationship gasping for a restraining order.

"Don't clam your mouth shut when we're kissing, doofus," Ulquiorra muttered for the eighth time that morning. He was smooching an unwilling wall, and was close to exhausting his vocabulary reserved for errant idiots like Ichigo. "Open it wider, will you."

"I'm practically eating your face like a biscuit, and I'm not a frigging alligator _please_. My jaws don't hang on a hinge and neither are they strings manipulated by a puppet master."

"I'd like to know your instrument for measurements, Kurosaki Ichigo."

The orange haired man held up a finger. "There! My mouth is opened this wide—practically the length of my forefinger, and you can't stop complaining. If you wanna make out with someone that badly, dial up anyone in your 'Bat Boy' affiliation. They will be more than willing to line up at your doorstep, those tasteless dumbasses. And they'll be waving Maybelline eyeliners like they're light sticks! As a show of support! Way to go, people. Oh, and my dad's a massive fan of yours. Care to sign some DVDs? Wouldn't want to disappoint an old man, won't you? Oh of course you _would_. You care shit for anyone."

"As anticipated, we do not connect well," said Ulquiorra, determined to ignore his perplexing co-star. How one's talent could fluctuate so ludicrously was something else he had to work out in his spare time. "We need an atmosphere to induce the need for rapport and, intimacy."

"A bedroom is more than enough," Ichigo grinned twistedly. "What more do you want? Red wine and rose petals? Silk sheets? A harpsichord and a plate of spaghetti with meatballs in the back alley?"

"Music."

"B-oring," said Ichigo. "Your madcap cousin's right. You really are one hell of a boring bastard."

The impenetrable Ulquiorra stretched over to the bedside table, where his iPod stood plugged to a Bose sound deck system. He ran a thumb over the click wheel, selected a playlist titled 'In The Mood', and hit the round silver button. Soothing strands filled the room immediately, and rich vocals warbled outlandish declarations of ardor.

"Love songs?" Ichigo sniggered. "What's going on? Ballads and you certainly don't go hand in hand. Unless..." he alluded slyly. "So who's the poor soul you've got all locked up in your cold, dark dungeon?"

"None of that sort," Ulquiorra repositioned himself on the bed. "They are all preparations for the movie."

"Preparations," Ichigo echoed. "Do you always do these stuffs? For a movie? For your other co-stars? Nah, I don't think so, eh? Given the lovely comments they've awarded you. Ha."

"Correction. It is for the role," Ulquiorra plainly stated. "Your role is your problem, not mine. But now, your problem has affected my performance. It is detrimental to my reputation. Your problem traverses through boundaries and into mine, so that's where the problem lies. It is contagious indeed, no matter how I keep it at bay."

"Aha! Nice way of pushing the blame onto others. Though I admit, begrudgingly because I loathe you so," Ichigo disclosed, "we do have some issues to iron out. I'm not the source for each and every single one of them though! And the music, ah the music, isn't this by Sarah McLachlan? Not bad. I listen to her occasionally too, other than the usual rock tunes. You listen to rock?"

"Sometimes."

"Really? I thought you'd have considered the genre as your favorite noun—trash. Always reckoned you to be some avart garde freak. Either that or some random uptight classical music prick."

"Look at me," Ulquiorra ordered. He had decided for a change in approach. Instead of stimulated coercion, he was going to whet the other's appetite. Big time.

Ichigo made a big show out of enlarging his stare. "There!"

"What do you see?"

"An asshole."

Ulquiorra squandered a large amount of effort to not kick Ichigo off his bed. "Be serious."

Ichigo wiped the devilish smirk off his face. "I am."

"Because I'm now Takamatsu Soujiro, tedious fool, so look at me with as much intensity as would Murakami Yoshihito."

This time, surprisingly and to Ulquiorra's relief, Ichigo did as he was told. Garnering whatever energy he had left, he condensed them into balls of adoration. Using these balls for moral support, Ichigo peered deep into his co-star's limpid depths, unblinking. The pink plumes gradually resurfaced and clouded his vision, and sometimes Ulquiorra's green eyes glowed through the smog like a lighthouse's bulb. Other times they were lost in the hazy vapor, and became chockablock with smoke.

The unwitting Ichigo came closer and closer, until Ulquiorra took the initiative and let his lips ghost over the younger man's. Each time Ichigo jutted forward to make contact, the raven haired man vaulted away as if he was a phantom shying away from sunlight. The furtive action gnawed at Ichigo—he hadn't any idea what Ulquiorra was playing at now. He was one step behind again.

Ulquiorra continued to toy with his co-star, bordering on kissing him but not, and left dreamlike trails along the side of his jaw. His breath grew warmer with every exhalation, and left the hapless Ichigo guessing when he would take action. Knowing the impertinent younger man and his temperament, this would work fine. It would provoke him into spontaneity and invoke a reaction when the deed was finally done.

"Oi, what are you trying to do? Do it already," Ichigo grumbled, but he preferred this to diving into the kiss headlong. Perhaps he liked being teased, and closed his eyes while immersing himself in the role. His role yes, his role as a conflicted man who harbored romantic sentiments and sexual desires for his equally troubled friend.

 _It'd be alright_ , he thought, _it's just acting. And as of now, I'm in love with this bastard before me, and yes, I am in bloody love with him._

"Do what?" Ulquiorra's nondescript voice sounded husky with sensual ballads straying in the background. _He's getting into it,_ he mumbled tiredly. _At last._

"Plunge your tongue down my gullet, or whatever you deem fit," Ichigo said, and turned his head so he wouldn't be caught like the budding virgin he was again.

"And you point out my analysis of lovemaking scenes was a drone." Ulquiorra angled his posture to match Ichigo's. Bit by bit those green eyes torched into life. "Do words ever travel through your brain before you dish them out?"

"Yah yah, they don't. So it turns out that I don't have a brain, happy?" Ichigo found his back up against the head board once more. He was holding in his breath all this while; who knew his stoic co-star could smolder like that. "Sorry to interrupt your thunderous exhibition of verbal talent, but shouldn't we recite some dialogue while we're at it?"

"When we get through this session without a hitch, we will," Ulquiorra replied, and without a second word, his lips settled on Ichigo's soft ones.

It didn't end there.

It was supposed to, after a brief exchange of kisses, but Ichigo thought otherwise. He wanted to give this round his best shot. _Because it's only acting._ He needed to see how far he could take this without shying away. _This is only the beginning._ And it'd be grand to let known his enthusiasm for the project, despite his impending fear of being all sexed up by Ulquiorra. _If he can get into this without restrictions—and knowing how pleasant he finds me, why can't I do the same too?_ He couldn't picture himself being turned on in any way by the man with skin so pallid he could easily be mistaken for a jumping zombie. And, there was a significant detail obliterated: he was straight.

_It's on!_

Ichigo refused to let the older man pull away, and clung onto him like a driftwood out at sea. With every slant of the head, with every increased voltage in their lip lock session, with every ironclad grip of their shoulders, Ichigo twirled Ulquiorra round, and round, until their positions were exchanged.

Ulquiorra had his back pressed against the headboard, and shot his eyes open to spy an indulgent Ichigo smooching him to no whereabouts. The younger man's hands released their hold on his blades, and wandered south. They crawled all over Ulquiorra's back, and were packed in strength. He was wrongfully in control, but he paid no heed. He continued to kiss Ulquiorra hard and fast, till the latter's head dived into cushy pillows.

It was now Ulquiorra's turn to be confused. Ichigo was trying hard to intensify the kiss, not that he was horrible in the art of some mouth to mouth action, but the mere materialization of the carrot top striving to make things work made the green eyed man somewhat pleased and irate at the same time. 

 _At least he isn't trying to avoid it,_ Ulquiorra returned the surging passion by lashing out with his snaking tongue, _but has he forgotten his character's the more passive party in the scenes?_

Panting for breath, Ichigo stopped his unintended invasion of Ulquiorra's mouth. It was perfect timing too, the latter's gums were beginning to ache. What the orange haired man lacked in finesse he made up for it in drive. Overpowering, excessive drive. And--what was this bizarre tingling feeling creeping into his guts?

"Stop!" Ichigo yelped as he hurriedly pushed Ulquiorra off him.

"What are you trying to do?"

Ichigo shook his head a few times, then slumped back onto the bed, defeated by his own thoughts. He mentally berated himself for being a child.

"What is it?"

"Don't you...I don't know...feel strange about this?"

"This?" Ulquiorra shot him a pointed look. "You mean the position we are currently in?"

Ichigo nodded slowly.

"Then tell me what are you here for? I never knew you could be so overwhelmed over the _smallest_ things."

Ulquiorra knew exactly how to rile up his co-star, and he also knew when exactly to use it to his advantage.

"Whatever, pasty f--Ulquiorra. I don't care what you think of me, but I'm..." the younger male caught his breath, "I'm here to become a better actor, someone who can adapt readily to challenging situations!" 

"Listen. What you did earlier was not too poor of an effort. But."

"But what?" Ichigo asked. He couldn't believe how distraught he looked and how unaffected Ulquiorra was. He ought to try harder, and he didn't know why, and he probably shouldn't. Maybe a hidden side of him desired to see the cool man all heated up. Again he didn't have an answer to that, and he wished it could remain unknown. Whatever the rationale behind such thoughts was, it had to be unmentionable. It had to be pushed to the back of his head. "I thought it was pretty good!" he said, turning away to hide a developing blush.

"As I said, you need to follow my lead," Ulquiorra fluffed his pillow, "and you didn't listen. You have to, because you--"

"Because I what?" Ichigo raised his volume at the older man's one worded justification behind everything. "Because Takamatsu's the more active party? Tch, I know that. We were just practising, so don't be fussy, Mr. OCD!"

"When you practise, that's because you aim for perfection in what you do. Hence you have to do it accurately, not whichever that is to your fancy. Sole dependence on one's emotions doesn't suffice. Hence I'll decide when to do what." Ulquiorra turned a deaf ear to the OCD remark.

"Yeah as usual you're damn spot on. So acting is like speculating on the stock market. You think you can eradicate all traces of emotion involved, and be wholly rational," Ichigo tucked his legs beneath him. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Speaking of which, I need to check something." Ulquiorra slid off the bed and sat before his computer, logging onto a stockbroking platform. A few deft clicks of his mouse and he was done with a sell trade. Behind him Ichigo watched in discreet amazement. He often wondered how was it possible that Ulquiorra could make so much. The green eyed man had no known endorsements nor did he attend VIP parties for the luxurious goodie bags and generous appearance fees. The mystery was solved! So his additional income came from stocks trading, and again, he had proven his point with solid, convincing evidence.

"I don't do any of those confusing stuffs," said Ichigo. "I'm satisfied with what I have, unlike you."

"Don't _slobber_ all over my furniture then."

"Tyrant. Overbearing tool. Tyrant."

"You and your arsenal of kindergarten insults are proving to be bearable entertainment," Ulquiorra cracked a scarce smile. "Do inform me the thesaurus type you subscribe to, even if they are outlandish in their make."

Ichigo hmphed and sulked by the side of the bed. He couldn't look at his co-star now, and especially not when the most obscure of smiles graced his unpainted face—the pink plumes zipped in fast and furious.

 

* * *

 

They had lunch in a jiffy, and this time Ichigo was spared from domestic duties. They had homemade sandwiches—courtesy of Yuzu, and the younger man had no intention of sharing them. Ulquiorra saw it as his given right to have them. They were in his house, and so, as stated in the contract signed by both men, he had the final say. And happily he ate them, one at a time. And irascibly Ichigo ate his too, two at a time. He tried to finish the miniature sandwiches before Ulquiorra could lay his ashen hand on them, but the latter was quite the speed master. It ended up in a tie.

Both had sixteen sandwiches to their names.

 

* * *

 

Shortly after lunch they were back in Ulquiorra's room. The drawn curtains cast a lazy afternoon glow over the furniture, and the tendency to have a nap after food consumption hit Ichigo. Before he could make the couch his nest, he was hauled to his feet by Ulquiorra, who then dumped him in the washroom with a bottle of Listerine.

"This time, do as I say, understand?" Ulquiorra demanded. "Make sure your senses are receptive, and learn. Learn to control your strength when handling a lover, and I don't suppose you hold your girlfriend as roughly as you do to me."

"What I do in private is frankly none of your goddamned business. She's a girl, so that goes without saying," Ichigo fibbed and rubbed his bleary eyes. The afternoon heat was getting to him. "As for you, you prolly deserve it. And throw in a good knock on the back of your head. Watch out for it!"

"Will I?" Ulquiorra maneuvered through the younger man's twaddle and pushed himself up against him, effectively closing the vacuum between them. "Don't dismantle the frail opinion I have of you."

"W-Wait!" the carrot top placed a hand on his co-star's chest, giving them some distance. "Can't you do some sort of countdown? Each time you come right up like this you scare the hell outta me! How am I supposed to function when I'm in inertia?"

"You should always be ready. The moment you enter this house you ought to be."

"So basically you're saying I might be jumped whenever I come here?"

"I don't _jump_ people."

"You startled me more than once!"

"You were given four days to brace yourself for this, and the grace period has now expired. I expect to see results. Tangible results. So, if we were to speak in your terms, yes, you might be 'jumped'. Because I may test you any moment."

"T-T-Test what...?" the carrot top's mind was ever the gutter.

Ulquiorra returned Ichigo's embarrassed stutter with a blank stare. "The screenplay?"

 

* * *

 

The afternoon was languorous, and everywhere in the exquisitely designed room stood as immobile as though it was night. Ballads flowed stirringly from Bose speakers, and elsewhere in a forgotten corner of the room a ginger cat watched what unfolded before her auburn slit pupils with great interest. Before this she lounged languidly on the couch, and purred a few times to garner Ulquiorra's attention. She was duly dismissed, so being as nonchalant as would a cat, she halted her mews and focused on what was happening.

It was her owner and the tantalizing orange haired man swooping at each other on the bed, the first few tries forced and obviously fake. As the minutes ticked forward, so did the levels of passion. They gradually escalated up the scales, and in the Law of Averages, after lows come highs. And their high was coming. A high witnessed by none but Sakana the ginger cat, perched on top of her fallen wooden empire.

Frank Sinatra's rendition of Moon River came on, and for an elapsed duration of time the screen lovers were two drifters, stranded on a float, with the inescapable crash of mountain high sea waves eluding them, if not ephemeral. Tenderly Ulquiorra traced the pursed outline of Ichigo's lips with a digit, _Murakami Yoshihito's lips,_ to and fro, forth and back, giving the other man ample time to drown himself in role portrayal. Then he launched into a mellow kiss, taking his time to taste his co-star. Previously he rushed into the act; a man overly swift in his undertaking, and failed to appreciate the scenery. Now he took it slow, and suddenly, many things began to crystallize. The colors grew more vivid, the sounds more sonorous, and the feelings more scintillating.

Ichigo was flat out against the paneled headboard, hands gripping the back of Ulquiorra's head, clutching at those onyx strands and mused them reflexively. He hadn't an idea what he was really doing; more so he was allowing his instincts to take over, instincts he concluded Murakami Yoshihito would possess when serenaded by the man he loved. The soaring keys aggravated them, and he desired to do more. No longer could he stave off these urges. Not that he had to, in the first place.

Again, the stolid man was correct. Music was an effective aide. Or was music an effective reason? That both couldn't tell.

Further swayed by the increasingly sensual ambiance, Ichigo buried his lean fingers in Ulquiorra's hair as the latter pushed more intensely into the kiss. Tongues swirling and hands roaming across fabrics, both refused to pause what they presumed was the proverbial injection in their working relationship. They pulled apart briefly, breaths worn ragged, admiring the beguiling mess they made of each other—especially an accomplished Ichigo, before reaching toward each other for a second solicitation.

Sakana could only view unblinkingly as her owner got down on the orange haired man, bringing a wan hand up to stroke his heated cheek. A tinge of pink streaked across the initiator's visage as he tugged at Ichigo's jacket, finding it a hindrance, and unzipped it. Jerking the offending material off the younger man's shoulders, Ulquiorra left the jacket dangling midway at the elbows, before he decided to send it on its way. With a hearty flick of his wrist the jacket sailed across the room and landed on a spot near his bedroom slippers.

"Hmmm...?" Ichigo mumbled incoherently. Did he just hear something flop onto the ground? He was too engrossed in smooching Ulquiorra to retain his observational prowess. His co-star's hands were down to his sides now, swimming in circles and enthralling him with touches that emitted fiery fondness. Whoever knew Ulquiorra Schiffer, no, Takamatsu Soujiro, could make his toes curl and grapple with the bedsheet like that? It was true he did find Ulquiorra's rendition of the book character attractive, but it hardly meant anything. Anyone could admire anyone else, and this had to be no different, had it be not? Such was the mystery of life, better left unsolved.

"Mmmmpf..." a soft moan escaped his lips when the green eyed man angled himself to delve deeper. _That damned corpse face is quite some kisser. So what does that make me? A mmmpf apprentice in the art of on screen make-out scenes mmmpf...oh shit, did I just go all mmmpf? Twice? Thrice? No I didn't—mmmpf..._

Amid the feigned tempestuous sitting and internal torment the blasted phone rang. It went unnoticed initially. Both actors were too submerged in each other to spare some room for a miserable phone. So the phone retaliated. It rang off its hook repeatedly, the screeching beep busting ear canals.

"Stop," Ulquiorra withdrew from the searing caress he had Ichigo in. "I need to answer the phone."

"Eh? Oh, go ahead," the orange haired man got up in a stupor. He couldn't remember where was he and who he was now. He hadn't trained to Ulquiorra's level yet, the skilful switching on and off of characters whenever necessary. He had never been soundly kissed like that. Not even in reel, neither so in real. All that played in his mind was them diving into each other as would a pair of lovelorn swans. Ichigo felt a little lightheaded at the memory, and the air in the room got colder. Goosebumps rose on his forearms, and he realized his jacket was no longer on him. It was somewhere on the floor, strewn aside by Ulquiorra in his haste.

He watched his green eyed co-star pick up the phone from its stand, lips a cherry red, and muttered a few syllables into the receiver. The caller must be someone important to him, Ichigo thought. That would justify the abnormally courteous and respectful tone behind his replies. It was a quick conversation, and Ulquiorra rounded off the chat with a blissful expression. It radiated off him and into the room.

"So...who was that?" Ichigo probed, a little infected by the sudden jubilation. Still, the sight of a smile adorning the otherwise cold gaze unnerved him. It unearthed something buried in the cranny of his tummy. Something foreign, and should be disregarded entirely _—_ better left unsaid, unsolved.

"Someone."

 _Someone! Great answer. Someone he holds in high regard, obviously. Who?_ _Didn't he mention he isn't seeing anyone? Then who?_ "You seem...joyous," Ichigo said hesitantly. He was sure he wasn't being the brightest bulb in the room by stating that.

"Be properly attired," said Ulquiorra. He retrieved the yellow jacket from the floor and passed it to Ichigo, the guarded smile plastered on his lips smothered. He was Ulquiorra the Expressionless again.

"Huh? We're done already?" Ichigo groaned, only to discover a hint of disappointment rose in his words. He had to cover his tracks wisely. "Not that I...not that I care."

Ulquiorra spread his comforter neatly across the bed and waddled into the bedroom slippers. "My mother is at the door."


	15. Closer: I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The standard applies, and Mrs Schiffer is an OC. She's quite a typical mom. So is Mr Schiffer.

The door opened to reveal an overjoyed Mrs Schiffer, perched on the step with her straw sandals tipped and a leather handbag wheeling on an upturned arm. She was Japanese clearly, with eyes like almonds, fair skin bordering on Ulquiorra's pallidness, and had a petite build. It was easy to see that they were related. Both had an angular narrow jawline sloping to a pointy chin and unrelenting poise to their gazes. Ulquiorra's was a steely green which flashed a specter of bioluminescent shades under lights. His mother's orbs had an auburn shade which made it softer, more compassionate, and a wee zealous. That reminded Ichigo of a certain goateed man back home.

What Mrs Schiffer lacked in height she packed in strength. As would any mother overjoyed to see her child, she lunged—handbag flinging, for her son, her only child, one whom she had not seen for months.

So it went—an unsuspecting Ulquiorra was all locked in an unwanted devastating embrace with his mother. Kudos to him: for holding as still as he should; had he opted to wriggle out of the ginormous hug it might have easily been worse. The offending action; his mother's indefatigable gusto lasted for as long as it could possibly last, before the green eyed actor realized they were being stared at by another. He had to act fast—should his mother jump to conclusions. Mrs Schiffer was greatly prone to doing so, and it irked Ulquiorra. No matter how so she was his mother, such an outcome was not up to him. And he loved her greatly.

Ichigo stood behind him, waiting to be introduced. To say his curiosity was piqued was an understatement. From the time he Googled his co-star he had developed a profound interest in his actual background. Scanty details did nothing for his understanding, and whereas speculation about the known events was one issue, having the facts was another. Ichigo made sure to stay around, and get to the bottom of things. He was a busybody.

"Mother," Ulquiorra greeted, determined to block his co-star from view. But he was shorter, and Ichigo had hair that rivaled a sun's brilliance.

"Mmmm...mmmm," gurgles of approval bubbled from Mrs Schiffer's throat, after she glowingly looked her son up and down. "You've kept yourself in good condition despite your hectic schedule, just that..." her hand shot up to smoothen Ulquiorra's mused hair. "Bed...hair..." she murmured to no one in particular.

"Likewise, Mother," Ulquiorra smiled in return, making pink plumes swirl around him. "The air in Hakodate does seem as fresh as you mention in your mail and calls."

"Of course," Mrs Schiffer capped a hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles like a proper lady. "And this is...?" she arched a delicate brow at Ichigo. "Oh..." she came to a woman's sort of understanding. It was intuition. "Quiqui, you've been _rude_ again!"

"Kiki?" Ichigo laughed boisterously. "You have a girl's nickname? God, KIKI!"

"Oh no," the house reverberated with laughs aplenty. "It's not K-I-K-I. Take the 'Q-U-I' out of 'Ulquiorra' and there you go!"

"Mother, don't call me _that_ in the presence of others—"

"Hello there, young man!" chirped Mrs Schiffer, and dismissed Ulquiorra's protest by dumping her handbag in his hands. "I'm Quiqui's mommy. Nice meeting you, and please call me Mrs Schiffer. I'm a stickler for western tradition."

"Hi, Mrs Schiffer," the orange haired man obliged and gave a short wave. "I'm _Quiqui's_ ," he threw his co-star a triumphant sneer, "friend. Ichigo."

Mrs Schiffer squealed. She was no fan of the local entertainment circuit, kept no tabs on it, and probably was one of the dwindling minority who had never heard of the rising star. "Your parents must be really cute to give you a name like that! Now on the other hand, because Quiqui was never a cute kid to begin with, hence his pet name. It makes him sound friendlier and more accessible, yes?"

"Mother—please." Ulquiorra spun away to place the handbag on a table, trying to disguise his embarrassment.

"So you've filled in his available status?" Mrs Schiffer asked enquiringly with large twinkling eyes.

Ichigo became an owl, then a goldfish. "I—what?"

"Don't worry, Ichi-kun. I'm not looking too much into why you're here at my son's place. I was young once, and I understand perfectly," she raised a ringed finger to Ichigo's lips. "Hush. I know, I know."

 

* * *

 

Mrs Schiffer was a firm advocate of home-cooked meals, and expressed underwhelming thrill at Ulquiorra's culinary talents. She berated the lack of recipe books in the house, the shortage of cutlery in the kitchen, the brand new feel of the chopping board, and overall cleanliness a proper kitchen shouldn't have. At each item off her checklist she clucked her tongue in disapproval, then turned to the lukewarm duo and asked a question:

"When making broiled eggs, what should you do first?"

"Boil them in water," Ulquiorra answered while Ichigo was thrown off track by the reply. _He actually knows how to make something in the kitchen?_

"What kind of water?"

"Plain water."

"Wrong!"

"Salt solution," Ichigo replied. He had done his fair share of cooking at home, hence his relative expertise in the subject. "Home economics 101."

"Excellent showing, Ichi-kun!" Mrs Schiffer gave Ichigo a hearty pat on the back. "I knew you had it in you, otherwise how else would..." her words were met with empty looks from both men, "oh never mind me! Hush. I know, I know."

"Umm...thank you, Mrs Schiffer," Ichigo bowed in gratitude. "And _Quiqui_ , so there's something you don't know after all," he couldn't resist the rare chance to poke fun at the sedate man who saw him as a fledgling actor. "So you're human. That's a comfortable finding."

"It is _just_ an egg," Ulquiorra was stung by the constant jibe at his name. "And, who are you to call me that."

"Based on the fact I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, that's what. Try this method if you don't believe me. Sprinkle salt into the pot of water, then put in the eggs, and let the water boil. Once boiled remove the eggs, and you can shell them. The egg shells can then be peeled off easily."

"Salt?" Ulquiorra questioned. "It does that?"

"Common sense. I wonder what they taught you in high school," Ichigo grinned. He had garnered an one point advantage over the raven haired man. _Hooray!_

"I passed my examinations with stellar grades. All of them."

"Yes, he did!" Mrs Schiffer chorused. "Top of the batch, and Quiqui couldn't give a speech as class valedictorian on his graduation day because he came down with the flu! Our Quiqui and his interminable bouts of flu! So strong yet so frail. And, young man, know what?" she leaned towards Ichigo and whispered conspiratorially. "The same goes for his emotional state. Armored on the outside, and glassy on the inside. Charming little boy isn't he, our Quiqui! A total enigma!"

Ulquiorra was increasingly exasperated by the prattling of his personal history to someone as unimportant as Ichigo. " _Mother_."

" _Son._ Your fridge..." she tossed her son a look of displeasure as she yanked the fridge door open. "What exactly is the purpose of having one when clearly the purpose evades itself?"

"Mother, you know I don't cook."

"That doesn't explain why your fridge is emptier than a black hole, Quiqui!"

Ulquiorra looked sullen. "There are eggs in the tray, and there is milk in the storage cabinet. In the drawer at the bottom there are packets of carrots and potatoes. I have cereal too—ten boxes."

"What am I supposed to do with them? I'd like to make a proper dinner for us, oh," Mrs Schiffer caught Ichigo's eye. "Why don't you stay for dinner too, Ichi-kun?"

"Don't you dare agree," Ulquiorra warningly mouthed to his co-star. "You are to leave at six. On the dot too."

"Sure!" Ichigo feigned ignorance and shunned the countless daggers Ulquiorra sent his way. "I'm kinda famished anyway. I see _Quiqui_ is a fan of hard work and bad quality food."

"Excellent! You must know our Quiqui _very_ well too. I believe I'm starting to comprehend the reason behind him having you around on a gorgeous Friday afternoon. You summed him up in just one sentence! Don't we all love short and terse descriptions, Ichi-kun?" Mrs Schiffer clapped her hands gaily. "Bring out the eggs, Quiqui. Shall we make broiled eggs and stew today, since we're on the topic of cheery little eggs? And Ichi-kun, feel free to stay for the night."

"No he can't—" Ulquiorra burst out despite himself. "He is to leave at six—"

"Quiqui, _manners_!" Mrs Schiffer frowned at her son, then turned to Ichigo with a dazzling smile. "What do you say, Ichi-kun? Ignore my discourteous boy. I shall send him out on an errand now, just so he won't get in our way, yes?"

The carrot top snorted in agreement and with that, Ulquiorra was unanimously shuffled out the house with a list of groceries to stock up on.

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo tended to lead a life of bizarre encounters. He didn't force it. They came straight to him, welcoming or not. Some he understood, some he misunderstood, some he failed to understand altogether. This was perhaps the most incomprehensible incident to date: preparing dinner in a kitchen so unused and clean it might have as well been a showroom model, and the source of accompaniment was none other but the mother of a man who only weeks ago dissed him to stratospheric levels. He was chopping carrots too. _Carrots_! Chopping sticks of carrots into tiny dices and an array of fanciful shapes.

"You make a wonderful chef, Ichi-kun!" Mrs Schiffer smiled. "Quiqui likes his carrots cute and edible and squishy!"

"What is he," Ichigo returned the smile, his eyes never leaving the chopper. He was attempting to create some star-shaped carrot slices. "A baby? Squishy diced carrots?"

Mrs Schiffer turned on the faucet and filled a saucepan with water, then set it upon the electric stove. "He takes after his daddy in this aspect," she wiped both hands dry on an apron, "imagine the number of carrots the Schiffer household consume on an annual basis! And so the rabbits starve. Did Quiqui ever tell you he had a pet rabbit once? He let it out one day and it scampered away to freedom. Or martyrdom."

Ichigo shook his head, bemused by the rabbit that ran away. "Nothing of the sort. All I know is he has a cat named after the food it eats."

"Sakana-chan! Where is she?"

"Don't know," Ichigo shrugged. "Probably upstairs sleeping."

"Has Quiqui told you how Sakana-chan came about?"

"Err...no?"

"Sakana-chan was a gift from his daddy when he graduated from high school. We went to China prior to that, and Quiqui had his fortune read! You should have seen his face then. He was horrified! It was the most amazing expression I've ever seen him wear. We had many laughs about that, to the point where he tuned us out completely, and, perhaps the singularly most important forecast the old Chinese man made was that an orange something, a living thing for sure, would bring much luck and joy and significance to his life. After we came back to Japan, his daddy surprised him with a ginger kitty on Christmas."

"I see. Orange..." Ichigo scratched his head. _Why do I feel a chill running down my spine?!_

"Now that I think of it," Mrs Schiffer pursed her ruby lips in contemplation. "The fortune teller's really accurate. Quiqui does have affinity with all things _orange_ , doesn't he?" she gazed at Ichigo meaningfully. "So...how long have you two been together? Can't believe he hasn't breathed a single word of this splendid union! Told you he can be really rude when he wants to, that boy. He should know by now that whoever he prefers doesn't bother me. All he does is keep things to himself and expect mommy to read his mind."

"No, we are not togeth—"

"Young man, don't deny the obvious truth," Mrs Schiffer lectured as she cleared plates of diced carrots into the saucepan. "I may be getting on with age, but I'm neither blind nor deaf."

"I don't mean that, Mrs Schiffer."

"Don't sound so apologetic, Ichi-kun. I was only teasing you," she winked. "Well, since you said you aren't together with my son, then explain why was he out of breath when he picked up my call, and why did I hear another man's voice in the background. Your voice, in fact. And his hair! It is _obviously_ messed up by someone...oh ho ho, what's an old woman like me to ask these questions anyway? Never mind me!"

"We were just—"

"Hush! I know, I know," Mrs Schiffer silenced him with a raised hand. "Tell me more about yourself, Ichi-kun. You seem really interesting, and I trust you have that special ability to capture my son's attention. Oh ho, what am I saying again? Hope you won't mind my rambling and please continue."

Ichigo sighed in defeat—it was rendered impossible a feat to out-talk the Schiffers, and said, "I have a dad who's a big kid at heart, and two younger sisters. Dad works in the hospital and my sisters are now in high school."

"What about your mother?"

"She passed away when I was ten, so..." he trailed off, reluctant to divulge more than what was needed. "Yeah, so, that's about all. Dad's a doctor by the way, and I almost practised medicine too. But I didn't in the end, and became an actor like your son."

"Sorry to learn that, Ichi-kun. But wouldn't your mom be pleased to see what a fine young man you've grown into. I for one already am," Mrs Schiffer cast him a sympathetic glance which gradually changed into forlornness. "Quiqui's daddy was a doctor too, and I was a nurse. Of course I left my job when I got married to him—that was some twenty odd years ago. His daddy was half-German, hence our family name."

Ichigo turned off the electric stove. "How is he like, Mr Schiffer?"

" _Was_ ," Mrs Schiffer corrected. "He passed away when Quiqui was nineteen. Anyway," she continued before Ichigo could offer his condolences, "regarding this particular Schiffer, he had to be one of the most industrious and most random man around, that's for sure," the petite Japanese giggled. "The first time we met was due to some error I made! I mixed up some samples in the clinical laboratory—I was out having fun the previous night and my system hasn't recovered yet, and he was the doctor-in-charge for mining the samples' findings. And so," she touched Ichigo's arm lightly, "he came to the nurses lounge, with those icy green eyes and long strides, ever ready to reprimand me. I was ready to scamper at the sight of him, plainly because I was terribly young and heady. I imagined the worst scenario possible: him making me kneel before everyone and apologize profusely. At least I thought he was. But no, he didn't. He didn't smile either—I guess the Schiffers are born with frozen expressions. He simply walked towards me with a stack of papers under his arm, and halfway he tripped over a trolley of samples!

"What a horror it was; those were urine samples! He had a right splash in the puddle and splattered about the ground. Such a pathetic man he was, and since his doctor's robe was thoroughly soaked and none of us nurses wished to get our hands dirty after cleaning the patients' stool, we pretended to be busy with other things. So he looked up at me for the longest time, as if it was my fault, and it really was although I tried to play the innocent card. I couldn't quite tear myself away from his stare, and I didn't understand why. Maybe because I wasn't into the whole falling in love with a lonesome stranger business back then," she sniggered. "Maybe he looked so furious that I felt entrapped in his restrained anger. Then he removed his robe, wrenched it dry with his bare hands and placed it in mine! You must be thinking, 'How gross!', right?"

"Right, definitely," Ichigo chuckled. Suddenly he thanked the people up there, whoever they might be, that made it possible for the same incident to not befall him when he vomited all over Ulquiorra. "Your son has a penchant for tripping over things too," he grinned as he recalled their endless tumbling sessions, then turned scarlet. "What did you do with his robe afterward?"

"Hmmm," Mrs Schiffer drummed her fingers against one another, and leaned against the steel kitchen counter. "In case you're wondering, I didn't burn it, or dump it as I initially wished to. I washed it with lots of soap, and let it dry. After which I took it off the clothesline at the pantry, folded it and went to his research room. It was, I guess, around midnight then, and I figured he wouldn't be around since he worked the morning shift. But no again! When I stepped into the dark room there he was, scrutinizing over the tiniest bit of human whatever—I couldn't see a thing, and on top of his already cramped table lay mountain piles of paperwork. He had sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he just kept bending over, scuttling from microscope to computer and computer to microscope like a busy bumblebee," she released an affectionate sigh. "Can't believe I still remember all of these little details so vividly, even up till today."

Ichigo smiled along with her. "Is that how you and Mr Schiffer got together?"

"Seriously, young man, what do you think I am! A smitten damsel? No! Of course not. As I said, I was more than turned off by his odious attitude, but seeing him so passionate about his work made the heady woman in me swoon a little. So I was there standing in a corner quietly, waiting for him to notice my presence. He was such a thick block of wood—so immersed in his work, and all the while I was peeking at him. So I stared, and stared. He had the most handsome profile I've ever seen, you can measure the bridge of his nose with a ruler and it would be aligned perfectly! And then I began to wonder why hadn't anyone, I mean us nurses, talked about him before. It might have something to do with his height though, and his unnerving walking speed. People get left behind without him knowing, so that's the kind of man I thought he was at first. Turned out I was wrong. Some mornings later he came to the nurses lounge with a file so overloaded that papers threatened to tear apart as he walked, and heaped it onto my desk. Then he left without saying a word! Very courteous of him to do so."

"Sounds exactly like what Ulquiorra would do too."

"They are so alike in their deplorable ways," Mrs Schiffer chimed. "I didn't know what to do with the file, so I went after him, looking very much like a crazy woman on the loose with that humongous object in my hands. I reached his consultation room, demanded for him to tell me what was with the file, whether should I check through some records or just file the older records away. I mean, you have to say something, don't you?"

Ichigo nodded, and waited for her to continue.

" _Then_ ," she paused dramatically. "He cranked the file open, and pointed at the clear plastic folder on the bottom flap. Stuck inside was a movie ticket, and when I tiled my head to look at him was then," she halted again, "that I saw how red his face was."

"That's..." Ichigo dug into his mental thesaurus for a suitably polite term. "That's very discreet of him."

"More like old-fashioned!" Mrs Schiffer filled another saucepan with water and sprinkled some salt into it. "And I stupidly accepted his invitation, and after two years, his marriage proposal. Everything was just so...random. Can you believe he popped the question when we were cleaning the laboratory?" she giggled again. "Though he resumed to work frenetic hours, he never forgot to come home for dinners and family gatherings. He had an inscrutable attendance record, and he prided himself on that. After I had Quiqui, he still was as busy as ever, having been promoted to Head of Department, so make that busier than his usual schedule actually, but he remembered all the silly events in life such as birthdays and death anniversaries and of course, our wedding anniversary.

"He would do randomly passe acts such as having a kid deliver a bouquet of roses to the house, or plant items in selective locations at home. I call them 'cheap thrills'. He also brought us around the world some three four times a year for vacations. One year it was Europe, the next it was somewhere in Asia, and the furthest we've been was to Brazil! God knows how he came up with the time and memory—that was the person he was, rotating between family and work, with no time for himself. At home he brought no work back, and played with Quiqui, reading to him, watched cartoons with him, helping out with the chores.

"Unlike Quiqui, he could cook, and what a gifted cook he was! He used to tell me that all he knew was to fill the pot with water and rice and cook it. The rest he learned while he was living in the college hostel and sometimes in the hospital itself. He was the kind of guy who could keep at it for as long as he could, despite countering setbacks. Throw a rock at him and he catches it, then crushes it into meaningless dust. Give him lemons and he will demand for orangeade instead. So when he died, it was entirely a random encounter too."

She heaved a deep breath, and steadied herself against the fridge.

"There was this woman, her husband died a few days after a surgery Quiqui's dad performed on him. It was nobody's fault—when you have to go, you just go. Everyone in the operation theater gave their all and prolonged the man's life, even if it was by just a fraction. That man, bless his soul, fell down the stairs and hurt his head badly, had a skull fracture, blood pooled in his brain excesses, and you know with these things the rate of success will always be extremely low. He could end up a vegetable still, say, if the surgery went through without a hitch. When she and her husband's immediate family signed on the papers they already were informed of the possible outcomes.

"But she wouldn't let the matter rest. I supposed she loved him a lot, and that as an equal I can understand. It didn't stop there. She demanded for compensation, took the issue to the legal courts, and slandered my husband's name as a reputable surgeon. The case lasted for around six months and ultimately, she won. Can you believe it? She actually won! I told myself then, if I ever see her out on the streets she'll never hear the end of it. She might not even live to tell the tale."

Mrs Schiffer calmed herself down by quickly putting some eggs into the boiling water, before poking at the carrot slices with a chopstick.

"As a result, Quiqui's dad, my own husband, had his medical license suspended for malpractice after nearly thirty years of service. It was right at the time where Quiqui was halfway through his first year in college. You know, he signed up for the medicine course just so he could be like his dad. We used to tease him his objective was to marry a nurse—just like his dad too," a rush of wicked humor crept into those hooded eyes. "He wanted to become a stellar neurosurgeon, write acclaimed papers, discover new cures, had numerous great ambitions—the usual a starry eyed boy entering college would have, and those came to an abrupt end."

"Is that why he dropped out of Waseda after the first year?"

"No, not yet," Mrs Schiffer shook her head, making a crown of wavy brown strands sway along. "You see, his daddy and I decided to keep mum the whole lawsuit deal and conclusion, so that Quiqui could concentrate on finishing his studies. It would take years, but for his sake we had to. We got on fine, I watched out for any abnormalities his dad might display in the aftermath, but nothing was out of the blue. So I thought to myself, perhaps the storm had brewed over and we could let this unhappy incident dwindle down to nothing.

"I mean, so what if he couldn't be a doctor anymore. He still had us. Any lesser being could have treated the matter as an impetus for a change of career or early retirement even. And then you look back at the stupefying amount of time and effort he had invested in his work, and what happened thereafter didn't seem as upsetting. He was never one to shrug things off, Quiqui's dad, and given the severity of what happened, even more so. I ought to have known better—me and my blind optimism that everything would be alright in a final analysis. His namesake rapidly grew notorious, and soon all sorts of allegations and failings imaginable were shoved unceremoniously onto his shoulders like a basket of onuses. Never have I seen one whose fall from grace was as tremendous, and the matter blew up.

"Quiqui was preparing for his exams then, and learned about what happened from one of his schoolmates. Yes, it ventured that far. Everyone in the medical field knew except him. From his tone over the phone," she closed both eyes in strained memory, "he sounded not furious, but utterly spaced out in his customarily formal manner. Not the usual blank, almost sarcastic tone the media obtains from him regularly, but a scarier variation. Like a robot wielded control over his soul or something. Mind you I haven't seen him genuinely mad before—oh! The eggs are ready! Ichi-kun, would you?"

Ichigo set the 'Heat' tab to low, then used a ladle to scoop the boiled eggs out and into a bowl. Waiting for the eggs to cool before scraping the shells off, he decided to wash the utensils lying in the sink. He didn't know what he could contribute to the conversation—a strangely inadequate emotion, and mutely held back for Mrs Schiffer to carry on.

"Where was I? Oh, Quiqui being scary. Yes, and he didn't say much, only mentioned he would be on the earliest train come morning. We used to live in Yokohama, and his campus was in Shinjuku, so it took approximately half a day for him to reach home. I was certain the harrowing journey down those scenic outskirts could somehow appease his anger, and judging by the way everything unfolded during dinner, it was set to head in that direction. We had a long chat about it after dinner too, and played a game of billiards. Then Quiqui woke up the next morning to find his dad lying motionless in the car. Such a random probability, right?

"He was worryingly calm about it—everyone else was sobbing buckets and there he was, consoling me in his capacity and who knew what he was thinking then. After the funeral, he went back to school, completed his papers, and filed for termination of studies. He didn't inform me prior to that, and I reckoned he might be angry at me for not being privy to what went on. He said he wasn't, and claimed he wasn't that keen on doing medicine after all."

"It must have came as an absolute shocker to you," Ichigo replied, and immediately he felt like a fool. _Duh, idiot._

A brittle laugh popped from her lungs. "Preposterous isn't it, the effect his dad's death has on him. It was instantaneous. I could tell he was afraid—afraid of ending up like his father, and tried to talk him around. Quiqui is someone who never believes in what is unobservable to the naked eye. When he doesn't see something, that something becomes nothing. So when he first caught wind of the license suspension, it was intangible. When we spoke about it, it was still what speaking is about: words. I supposed none of them really hit home until he _saw_ that something for himself. That something, a culmination of what he had missed out on and his dad's anguish, became visible. That something, once stranded in non-existence, became a truth."

Another fathomless release of pent-up breath.

"It goes without saying that I failed terribly. When I suggested he could opt for another course in Waseda, he rejected that as well. He said he would like a complete change of environment, and study in a college where everything was more liberal. I couldn't get what he meant, but there was no way I could stop him. He was adamant on transferring to somewhere far away from medicine and Waseda. So I let him be; I didn't want another dispirited man in the household.

"It was only sometime later that he moved back, and announced he had registered for a psychology major in a nearby college. The journey was a mere twenty minutes bus ride, and he said being in proximity with the college was just a coincidence. I know better, right? It was obvious he was looking out for me, that silly child. He was apprehensive about my well-being, worried how things could swerve awry once more, and probably he reckoned he was behind his dad's sudden passing, albeit indirectly. That he was away in school and wasn't informed of the situation—that what befell his dad wasn't something that could be siphoned with a few words, a scrumptious dinner and a game of billiards."

Ichigo felt shivers pricking his skin as words infiltrated his understanding. "What about the psychology portion? That hardly has any correlation with his current career choice."

"All thanks to a young lady he met in college," a ray of light torched those soft auburn eyes, "she was instrumental in turning Quiqui into who he is today. You see, Quiqui desperately wanted to get to the other spectrum, and when you think of it, his decision was entirely logical. Even with psychology, he still had to work in the healthcare industry and diagnose patients. By then the risk of bearing his dad's future had long been ingrained in him. What sits directly opposite the highly educated and professional job he could have gotten into? The show business! And this girl, she was in the school's drama club, convinced Quiqui to have a try, and during an audition he caught the eye of some big-shot director. He became a professional actor after graduation, and moved to Tokyo after I declared I would be returning to Hakodate, where I picked up on where I left off in the nursing field. Otherwise, knowing that boy, he would never leave Yokohama."

"So..." Ichigo was left a little agape at his co-star's personal history. "That was how he became an actor. I always thought it was extremely odd on his part."

"Things in life don't turn out the way you want sometimes, Ichi-kun," Mrs Schiffer took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "I said a lot, didn't I? It was supposed to be about you, and I bugged you with all these insignificant and dampening stuffs about the family. You are such a nice boy, Ichi-kun. I'm already feeling the connection you have with Quiqui. It goes deep, I know. Quiqui is never one for superficiality."

"No—we are not—oh umm, I should feel flattered that you told me this much. I am after all an outsider," said Ichigo, his hand warm in the other's grasp.

He felt uncomfortable and glad at the same time with the information overload. It was practically an intrusion on the other man's well kept privacy. Now he finally understood the rationale behind his co-star's seemingly wayward decision, and he wasn't sure if his opinion of the man was altered. It hadn't—but who was to say it wouldn't? And knowing Ulquiorra, he definitely would not have it if people edit their perceptions of him when they caught wind of factors contributing to the outcome. Likewise for Ichigo. Both men stood uneasy with sympathy votes cast in their favor.

"Outsider?" Mrs Schiffer chortled. "What outsider? You already are part of the family! Quiqui really is incredibly fortunate to have you."


	16. Closer: II

Dinner was a perverse affair, if Ulquiorra were allowed to give his inner soliloquy a proper run out on the pitch. What he wished to do in the least he couldn't; what he disliked most came in abundance. His refrigerator was chockablock with food, and he had no intention of putting them to their desired use. His cat was ingratiating herself with that blasted carrot top, purring away on his lap, blithely, lazily. His mother couldn't stop cooing about their non-existential relationship, and shot Ichigo winks that spoke of secrecy when he questioned their chat held in his absence.

Ulquiorra's eyes could only harden in frustration as inquisition was forfeited in exchange for a peace of the mind on a beautiful Friday evening.

"Quiqui, don't be such a worrywart! You'll grow crow's feet and wrinkles sooner than you think. All you have to know is that we didn't speak of you," Mrs Schiffer heaped a huge scoop of stew into Ulquiorra's bowl, then into Ichigo's. It was accompanied by another telling wink. "Even if we did, we said only good things."

"If that was possible," said Ichigo, aiming a sly dig at his co-star. He was immediately confronted with disgruntlement, for Ulquiorra decided to wean himself off this reckless hubbub. Suddenly the object of his non affections became chummy with the person he cared about most.

"What did _you_ do to my mother?"

"What did _I_ do to Mrs Schiffer?"

"Mew mew," said Sakana as Ichigo fed her bits of pan-fried seabass.

"Nobody did anything to me!"

"Most certainly, he—" Ulquiorra was vehement in his prosecution of the obtrusive Kurosaki Ichigo. "Did something to you, Mother, while I was away at the supermarket picking out cabbages, shrimp, fish, and numerous other frozen products which will subsequently become trash."

"Either that or as useful trash sailing down your sewage pipes!" the alleged one set his bowl down on the table—a _clang!_ , making the ginger kitty scamper away in shock. "And by the way, I didn't brainwash your mom or anything. Are you jealous that we're getting on extremely well? _Are you bothered by that?_ " Ichigo mouthed into Ulquiorra's ear, displaying a keen understanding that he had Ulquiorra's mother aboard his ship, hence the audacity.

To the unsuspecting, namely a certain Japanese lady who was instantaneously combustible, it seemed as though both men were sharing an intimate moment. That was until Ulquiorra pulled away, irritated by the demolition of his defensive wall.

"Mrs Schiffer, your son...sometimes I—I just don't know what to say or think about him," Ichigo shook his head in mock despondence.

 _Quit it, you fool,_ Ulquiorra fumed, _only a tool would fall for your useless act._

Mrs Schiffer stayed motionless, but her eyes shifted in resonance.

_Mother, don't. Don't—_

"Ichi-kun, I pray with all the goodness in my heart that Schiffer Junior here didn't do you any wrong," Mrs Schiffer turned to her son and put a stern hand on his shoulder. "Quiqui, you must be responsible for your actions! Don't assume just because Ichi-kun is a man, you can cast aside your principles and morals as a Schiffer. Have you forgotten what your daddy taught you as a child? Have you misplaced your heart, Quiqui?"

_What actions? What heart?_

"Love not freely but dutifully!"

That effectively put an end to the Ulquiorra's allegations of Ichigo leading his mother astray.

 

* * *

 

Nothing pleased Kurosaki Ichigo more than the giddy picture of Ulquiorra squirming in his seat, trying to block out audio waves and taunting frequencies channeling into his ear canals. To ensure the thorough failure of his attempt, Ichigo made it a point—a rather abominable one, to laugh and talk louder than normal. He was convinced Ulquiorra would eventually unearth some underhanded means to get back at him come Monday, so in early compensation he had to live it up, and soak in as many precious moments as he could possibly milk.

"Ichi-kun," Mrs Schiffer began in exuberance, her hands flailing about. "Do you know that Quiqui swims as fast as a drowned puppy? Until he was ten, he couldn't stand the sight of chlorinated water! Right, Quiqui?" she peered askance at Ulquiorra, who feigned monumental interest in his stew. Again he had no wish to be implicated in distant childhood memories. If there was a need he would not hesitate to purge the truth.

"Quiqui shrieked louder than a banshee when his daddy and I held him and made him paddle around the baby pool! It was alright when he was a toddler, in fact it was utterly an adorable sight to have a little child with huge eyes sobbing away. But it ain't quite as alright when he was five and _still_ screaming his lungs out! Frankly speaking it was a wee embarrassing for us parents," Mrs Schiffer caught Ichigo's eye, and both sniggered before she cleared her throat to continue.

"Not to steal the spotlight from Quiqui," she said, and Ulquiorra wished she did the opposite—but she wouldn't be his mother if she were to zip it then and there. "Poor Quiqui! He cried himself hoarse—and I suppose that's how he ended up with catching the flu bug easily. Don't know how it goes about, but it must have damaged his immune system right away. Having said that," she beamed brightly, "he always stayed afloat! Partly because of the adorable Batman arm floats we got him, and partly due to his flabby Michelin arms!" A humiliating admission was accompanied by a motherly sigh. "Makes you wonder where all that baby fat went to. Ichi-kun, don't you think he's way too gaunt now?"

"Practically all skin and bones, yes," Ichigo agreed, and tossed his co-star an evil side-eye. Said man promptly returned the polite exchange with a death glare. For a fleeting second Ichigo thought he saw the doors of Hell open.

"Each time we asked Quiqui why was he so fearful of the swimming pool, he would burst into a fountain of tears! He became a crying machine—that was how abysmal it got. We stopped asking thereafter, and one day, sometime after his tenth birthday, we took him to a water-based theme park, and he managed to waddle through the baby pool without behaving as if he had been burnt! It was the most wondrous thing we had seen, so his dad snapped a photo of the accomplishment. Mind you Schiffer Senior was a dire photographer," Mrs Schiffer grinned, then reached down to stroke Sakana, who sought refuge under her feet.

"There was no such thing," Ulquiorra mumbled to his utensil.

"Oh, Quiqui, where are the photo albums? Have you shown them to Ichi-kun? How can you not divulge anything to him? How can you maintain a relationship with these many secrets? It's unhealthy!"

Ulquiorra refused to answer, and spooned overflowing scoops of stew into his mouth.

"Do you still keep them hidden in your closet, under the boxers?" Mrs Schiffer inquired aloud. "How could you—oh Ichi-kun, I'm sorry how offensive our conversation has gone. But our Quiqui used to do that! He refused to let people see how chunky he was as a toddler, and how often he bawled his eyes out. So he thought it was very clever of him to stuff them under his underpants. But Mommy knows best! Quiqui, you sneaky child."

"Perhaps I should do some ransacking later," Ichigo winked whilst Ulquiorra bristled.

"You'd better! Oh, oh! Did you know?" Mrs Schiffer's rapturous tone hit her son like a bolt of lightning. "He used to tear up when he read a book. I remember Bambi made him cry too. Isn't that so, Quiqui? The part when Bambi's mother died? So did Lion King! Quiqui has a soft spot for animals, eh?" she nudged Ulquiorra in the ribs. It merited all of him to bear no reaction—both from spluttering the stew out and jerking at the rude tingle assailing his nerves.

"Of course he wouldn't admit it now! It was _just_ the dust particles in the air that made your nose red and your tear ducts run, right, Quiqui?"

Ichigo watched in rapid interest as swirling clouds of pink took up residence on the pale man's cheeks, then spread to far reaching corners of his face. What was alabaster became a bed of baby blooms.

"Are you ignoring Mommy just because I've let known the mysterious side to your ahem, personality? I just thought it was unfair of you, to whisk Ichi-kun into your room and he has yet to be in the thick of things. Don't just focus on the physical aspect, and ignore the rest, Quiqui! It's not very nice of you, even though Ichi-kun's being an absolute gentleman about this. You should share more of your background with him!" she wagged a finger. "Not building a solid foundation can lead to serious problems in the infrastructure. You wouldn't want any cracks that might lead to a collapse, right?"

Baby blooms blossomed into fields of burgundy.

"Look how shy Quiqui is!" the bubbly woman chirped, and her son remained plastered in the background, lovely as a blushing wallflower. "Now, now. Won't you forgive him, Ichi-kun?"

"Well," Ichigo was taking the moral high ground and he enjoyed the ride. The view from the top was one he cherished greatly. "That depends on how he's gonna make up for it."

"Don't be too hard on him! Would be an utter waste if you two were to go your own ways. Ichi-kun, you could very well be Quiqui's lucky star, no, no, no! What am I saying?" Mrs Schiffer gulped in alarm. "Quiqui, remember the fortune teller in China?"

Cue a curt response. "Not at all."

"The orange—well never mind. Since you insist you can't remember a thing, my amnesiac son! Let me retell the entire tale—"

"It is not necessary, Mother," Ulquiorra stiffened.

"Alright," Mrs Schiffer appeared down before a bulb in her ignited. "Now that I observe carefully," she began to scrutinize both men, "Quiqui does seem more animated in your presence, Ichi-kun. He comes alive! Did you not notice the difference too? He becomes talkative yet slightly miffed that I made him sound all uncool before you! He really does want to look good in your eyes, huh, Ichi-kun? Having said that, the brightness in you complements Quiqui's colorlessness. Look at him, oh, won't you just look at Quiqui! Your cheeriness lends a light to Quiqui's soul! Can't you see it shining from those windows of his?"

She was correct.

Rays of light poured forth from Ulquiorra's eyes in abundance. A brilliant green they were, borne out of not happiness but gross perplexity.

"Mother, I have a spare room upstairs—"

"One more thing, boys," Mrs Schiffer left no room for her son's invitation to stay the night over. "I'm leaving for Kyoto after dinner. I promised your aunt and uncle I'll be there in the fastest time possible. They're lonely folks because their only child went to London for god knows what, when all he should be doing is to serve tea and be a filial boy at home! Speaking of which I haven't seen that blue haired punk for some time. How is he doing?"

"Too well for my liking, and Mother, you can leave on the bullet train tomorrow," Ulquiorra urged, hoping to extend her stay. It wasn't everyday that she would pop by for a visit and make dinner. He missed her cooking, and her presence. If anything he felt settled with her around. "I'll go give Uncle Jeagerjacques a call now."

She gripped his arm before he could push his chair back. "Quiqui, you're neglecting someone."

"Who?"

" _Who_?" Mrs Schiffer echoed loudly. "Why, you rude child!" she bopped her son on the head. "Didn't we have this conversation barely seconds ago? You're as dense as your daddy, if not denser."

Ulquiorra made no attempt to shift away from his mother. "But I don't understand. Sakana already had her fill, so—oh." He peered at Ichigo, comprehension filling in those jade orbs. "That doesn't count."

" _That_?" the carrot top plonked his spoon down. "I'm a 'He' by all means of the word!" And typically, they proceeded to stare each other down: Ulquiorra with his wintry, brittle glare, Ichigo with fire sprouting from scorched brandy.

"I'm terribly sorry for Quiqui's poor behavior," Mrs Schiffer bowed, and pushed Ulquiorra's head downward. "Sometimes he finds it difficult to get his true intentions across. Don't mind him, would you, Ichi-kun. I'm sure you understand this silly son of mine more than anyone else!"

Then, to the poorly camouflaged horror of both men, Mrs Schiffer placed Ichigo's hand atop Ulquiorra's, and squeezed them together with a wide smile carved upon her face.

"You two can make nice later when I'm not around, alright?"

 

* * *

 

After Ulquiorra sent his mother downstairs and flagged a cab for her, he returned home to see Ichigo lurking in the dining room, wiping the table with a piece of flannel cloth and sweeping bits of leftover food into an open palm. The scene alone peeved him to no ends; the last thing he needed was some impetuous man in his home, using his water, persecuting his being, and leaving footprints on the flawless white marble. Ulquiorra had already suffered more than his fair share of mortification, and now he wanted to take a proper bath, and lounge about without being seen. That was the least he deserved.

"You can go now," said Ulquiorra, positioned against a pillar, hands tucked in pockets. "It is already nine. You overstayed your welcome by three hours."

"Oh yeah?" Ichigo entered the kitchen, careful not to drop any food particles along the way. "If not for the hardworking me, your dining room would be swamped with cockroaches and flies and rats. So much for your hygiene fetish."

"Are you implying I should applaud you for this?"

"Nah, wouldn't dream of it. Knowing you," Ichigo scoffed as he dusted the particles off his palm, then washed them clean. "The chances are slimmer than me nabbing Best Actor from you come next year."

"At least someone has the decency to admit that," Ulquiorra approached the kitchen sink, and reached for a porcelain plate. "I do hate to say this, but your worth is being reevaluated now."

 _Really? Is he starting to think better of me?_ Ichigo thought, and for the briefest of seconds he was genuinely hopeful. _Then what will it be? Someone awesome? My insurmountable range of acting capabilities? He finally removes those rose-tinted glasses of his and sees my undeniable talent? Well, well, well. Let's not get ahead of myself. And why should I bother? But it'll be decent. Ho ho—_

"Your worth as a housekeeper."

– _the hell?!_

"Oi, crybaby. Shut up! Why don't you just get outta here, go to the living room and watch some TV, and leave me alone? I already am doing your dirty dishes, I don't need your constant rubbing in!"

"I can wash my own plates, insolent creature. Furthermore, though however insubstantial my exertion may be, but to reinstate my honor, allow me to repeat: I am _not_ a crybaby, or whatever that term might mean as you deemed to be coming from my mother," Ulquiorra stubbornly grabbed a plate from Ichigo's grasp. "And you can make yourself scarce now."

"No!" Ichigo clutched his plate tightly with hands slippery from cleaning liquid. "I'll set out to finish what I've started!" Indeed—that was his ethos.

"I thank you for your generous assistance, and I wish you out the door _now_ ," Ulquiorra countered, and pounced on the plate with icy fervor.

"As I've _said_ , you pale, torrid beast!"

_Snatch!_

"Hand the plate back to me, imbecilic sponger."

_Grab!_

"Sponger? _Sponger_?" Ichigo's volume accelerated with every iteration and reiteration. "I'm in the midst of washing your bloody plates, can't you see?! Or has your vision been blurred by endless pools of tears? Boo hoo—mommy I'm scared of water! Help! It's the sea monster!"

_Slip!_

"I am very much capable of cleansing my _personal c_ utlery with dollops of washing liquid and a kitchen scrub and _water_."

_Grip!_

"Sounds to me you can't!"

They tussled back and forth for the plate, energetic glowers locked in a sea of flames, searing heat culminating in a single moment of explosion, their hands increasingly soapy, and it was only a matter of time before the poor piece of porcelain was set to clatter and break. It did, and what an astounding cacophony it was!

Cracked against the steel counter like a glassy jingle— _Wham! Slam! Crash_! Crushed to ivory fragments dotting the floor like a heavy blizzard, each more perilous than the next, and a thick daub of crimson emerged amid the shards.

It was blood—Ulquiorra's blood.

"Holy shit!" came Ichigo's offhand response. "Son of a gun!" was the next.

"Oh..." the green eyed man mumbled in a daze, almost unaffected. "Plasma."

"Plasma? Ah crap!"

If it were any other situation Ichigo would have laughed outright; such was the baffling nature of Ulquiorra's reply. Most would opt for blood, but Ulquiorra belonged to another group altogether. One of such minority that he was practically his own man.

"Are you delirious? Oi! Hey now, don't die on me!" Ichigo was aghast by the slit across the green eyed man's palm. A deep incision it was, and blood continued to seep out and formed meandering rivulets down his wrist. The wound wasn't coagulating, and tragically, he played a part in this careless infliction. Immediately he did what he was trained to do: make sure the casualty remained awake at all costs.

"Ulquiorra!" he shook his co-star as if he were a rag doll. "Can you hear me? Oi! Don't fall asleep! I repeat, don't curl up and die on me!"

"I wouldn't want my funeral anywhere near you."

"Damn—where's your first-aid kit?"

"Left of the cabinet, above the sink in the washroom on the second floor," said Ulquiorra, clenching his palm gingerly to make the blood clot, and watched as Ichigo dashed up the staircase and disappeared into the bathroom upstairs, only to appear in a millisecond and zoomed back down to him, first-aid kit in hand. Speedily he opened the box, retrieved some pieces of antiseptic swipe, a pair of tweezers and a kidney dish.

"Take a seat and show me your palm," Ichigo demanded, haste pervasive in his tone. "I'm gonna cleanse the wound then bandage it for you."

"I'd rather you not lift a finger," said Ulquiorra, dismissively. He wheeled a short kitchen stool over and sat on it. "Leave it be and the hemorrhaging will cease. Place it in your hands and I shudder to think what might happen."

"Can't you install a little faith in me?" the younger man chided as he forcibly pried open Ulquiorra's fist. It was met with potent resilience. "I don't want unwanted blood on my hands, not at this age anyway. Despite the kindness in my heart that runs away with me, if you continue to piss me off with your wretched conduct, who knows one day I might actually send a gunman after you. That is if I become as prosperous as your pompous ass, and figure you could be worth the penny paid for me to hunt you down. For vengeance and that sort of dramatic going on in sniper movies. So I suggest you'd better get packing after filming wraps up!"

Despite those sardonic words, Ichigo's intent was only superfluous at best. From pert antagonism portrayed so often in that leer of his, the brazenness had vanished, and was duly replaced by one of genuine anxiety and fret, colliding together in an intensive whirlpool of brown. Months of contempt served only to underlie the severity of a moment undone in time.

Captivated by the singular trice on an emotional whim, Ulquiorra wondered what had he done to deserve the concern catapulting in his face, and whatever that may be, it certainly paid off.

"Oi!" Ichigo crudely snapped his fingers, causing Ulquiorra to snap out of his daydream. "Show me your palm, pretty _please_? It's not my problem if a Class I hemorrhage evolves into a Class IV. By then it'd be beyond salvation."

"It isn't that serious, and your theatrics is of no pertinence here. While you are at it, drop the urgency in your voice."

"Not serious?" Ichigo huffed. "Then what is? A gunshot wound through your heart? A burnt rope around your neck? Or until you're lying on a stretcher, rushing into A&E? Is that when you'd call a wound 'serious'? No apologies, but that's called fatalistic! Sheesh. You need to re-prioritize your life, _Quiqui_! Here I am doing my utmost to keep you from dying a premature death and here you go all 'It's alright, my skin is made of the most robust metal, so it's alright!'. Sure it's understandable. Were you dropped on the head as a kid?"

Ulquiorra's brows knitted in annoyance. "Was your head dipped in orange dye when you were young, apricot dolt?"

"Jesus, not the hair issue again! Maybe one night when you're asleep I should sneak out of your closet and bleach your hair a zillion shades of orange and golden and platinum. That will teach you something, conceited tosser, and I said, _don't_ move your hand!" Ichigo steadied his co-star's upturned palm on a knee, and exercised great caution in handling the injury. First he checked for glass fragments stuck in the slit, then painstakingly removed them with the tweezers, and dumped the bits in a kidney dish. When that was done, he reached for a second pair of tweezers, then with clean, practised movements, he dabbed antiseptic swipes on the wound, disinfecting it.

Ulquiorra looked on with widened eyes at Ichigo's meticulous strokes across the incision, inside out. Although it was merely basic first aid, he couldn't help but be taken aback. What was rough handling became tender and hushed at once. Then he parried his mildly wondrous gaze upward, and settled on the younger man's visage. Caged in utmost concentration Ichigo was, he failed to acknowledge the alteration in his co-star's lingering stare.

"You've done this before?" Ulquiorra inquired, never averting his glance.

"Heh, once again I've stunned you, haven't I? It's time to revalue my worth," Ichigo smirked with the smugness he was renowned for. "It helps when your dad's a doctor. You learn all the little things such as simple first aid, diagnosis, basic treatment, and other medical rattle prattle. Kinda useful I'd say, especially when it comes to resuscitating already dead men like you," he peered closely at Ulquiorra, orbs awash with worry. "Wait a minute. Did you just become paler?"

"It is only natural that the outflow of blood would be succeeded by a barely discernible discoloration, which you've accurately detected," Ulquiorra looked away. "That or otherwise, your guilt at causing the injury made you visualize apparitions."

Ichigo snorted. "It is only natural that you'd analyze your bloody predicament with the pin-point accuracy and spine-chilling calm a coroner possesses. Speaking of which, as heard from your mom, those are definitive attributes a neurosurgeon has. Much ado for someone like you, overtly focused on the brain department, and not so much in the heart, innit? Too much heart kills you too, or so says some old, dramatic geezer punching his chest silly at home."

A thoughtful stretch of silence draped above them before Ulquiorra punctured it with an awkward cough.

"Why didn't you follow in your father's footsteps? You might have done better—judging by your situation at hand, it isn't a stretch to postulate such a hypothesis."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ichigo reached for a cotton gauze with the tweezers and positioned it above the slashed wound, then secured its place by wrapping the front of a bandage around it.

"You don't think very highly of me too, do you."

The younger man mustered a feeble smirk. "Switch our positions around and that's exactly what you would say of me. Besides," his tone took on gradual solemness as he basked in nostalgia. "We aren't that different anyway. If I were to despise you, I'd be despising myself somewhat. Am I right to say that?"

"The difference between us couldn't be any more palpable."

"Maybe," Ichigo tugged at one end of the bandage, the other end he rolled around the injured palm in a series of eights. "One thing for sure, our dads both practise medicine, and we as their sons, almost did. For one reason or another, the surefire path didn't look as steady."

"Then why didn't you?" Ulquiorra asked again. He couldn't keep his trap shut; he felt the confounding need to know, and that warranted a second bout of questioning.

This time the carrot top decided to speak up.

"You're going to put me down for this, I know. Thinking how frivolous and childish and atrocious my motivation is. Go ahead, I'm prepared for it. My shield is positioned," he grinned to a vacant mien. "You heard of the movie 'Roman Holiday'?'

Ulquiorra nodded. It was a no-brainer. Anybody with a remote history of films would encounter it at least once in their life. "The 1953 movie starring Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. It was nominated for 11 Oscars and won 5."

"Yeah, my mom was an ardent fan of it, in fact she loved everything cute and sweet and dramatic, and Roman Holiday had them all. She watched and re-watched the movie like nobody's business, to the extent where she blurted lines to me, as though it was a bedtime story, and frequently pictured herself to be Princess Ann roaming around in Rome with her Joe Bradley on a Vespa. She didn't mention that to me or my sisters, but evidence of their hipper days are aplenty! Photographs, slightly frayed around the edges, and a whole ton of them. Kinda too avid an interest in pop culture, but well, that's my folks in a nutshell.

"My dad specially bought a Vespa in my mom's favorite color—cornflower blue, just so they could zip around the suburbs and countrysides before I was born. Until today he grumbled about the choice of vehicle and its color, extorting it made him less of a man than he really is! Which is totally unjustified if you ask me."

As Ichigo rambled on about his parents, their enthusiasm for movies and bringing up a family, Ulquiorra noticed he was holding onto his slashed palm, chocolate gape lost in the haze of yesteryear. If the raven haired actor longed to, he could have made a contemptuous remark or two. But he chose to stay silent, for he hadn't anything to complain about. His co-star's touch wasn't rancid, wasn't horrific, wasn't apocalyptic. It was none of them. To him, the velvety feel reeked of a faint comfort, like that of sunshine peeking through throes of rainclouds. It soothed him. It was tender like tissue.

"But yeah, that was how much my mom adored the film. Said the onscreen chemistry was fantastic, said actors are actually quite some inspirational figures," said Ichigo. "In any way, it made her contented."

"You wished to delight your mother by becoming an actor?"

Stranger events had taken place, once in the afternoon with the charming Mrs Schiffer, but this—him engaged in a civil chat with Ulquiorra Schiffer was one of sheer oddity. Charm and the green eyed actor weren't to be associated with each other, much like how oil and water could never mix. Two entirely invariant substances, never crossing into each other's boundaries, not even a hint of trespassing. And it was until that night did Ichigo catch a glimpse of the impossibility occurring.

The odds-on clash of two improbable objects was the furthest thing on Ichigo's mind, despite his powers of imagination. Everything began to fizzle as he continued his narration. Pink plumes condensed into speckles of rosy radiance as his sarcastic co-star wasn't interrupting him with cutting comments, the background fading into a blur, and he had to shake his head a few times to exorcise the distortion.

"Nah, she had passed on before I was mature enough to think of the future that beckons," Ichigo straightened his back. It was aching from bending over to nurse Ulquiorra's impromptu injury. "Suffered from breast cancer, and by the time she discovered it, the cancer was at the later stages. There was nothing much we could do about it, and when you cancel out all the other options, the only one left is to make her as happy as possible. She had to undergo chemotherapy nonetheless, even when the chances of recovery were close to zero, but she gritted her teeth and hung on. She said the movies—tons of videos my dad brought for her, made the 'sads' go away, and that they were akin to gusts of wind blowing gray clouds into billowing white ones. That's what I basically remembered, and how could I probably decipher what she meant. I took what she told me literally word for word back then, and it wasn't until I watched those movies for myself in the beginnings of high school that my mom's words dawned on me."

He unwittingly shuffled towards Ulquiorra, seemingly wanting a physical presence to be near to.

"Sure, being a doctor helps saves lives, but my mom died a gratified woman, and then I figured, 'why not become an actor and spread joy to many?' The 'why not' alone opened an entire world of possibilities to me suddenly, so much so that I found myself at a crossroad of sorts. Didn't really know what to do after I graduate from high school, and saving lives one at a time in an operation theater sounds dreary. At least, well, if anything—touch wood, were to fail, I'd be spared the agony of breaking the news to their family members," the younger man cracked a lopsided smile. "Better the laughs than tears, and unlike medicine, acting does allow for retakes."

"A lofty ambition at the onset of inscrutable reasoning," Ulquiorra chipped in.

"I thought so too," Ichigo reluctantly concurred. "It's one of those things whereby you seal your lips about it, and when you suddenly spurt it out, everyone thinks you've gone mad, or they act as if you've made one of those hotheaded decisions in a finger snap. One of those decisions that will definitely go awry, one way or another. In my case I count myself fortunate. I had the support of my family, and this guy...you know Renji, my long-time pal and manager?"

"You, him, and Grimmjow could easily form an alliance for men who wear their personalities on their hair."

"Probably, and it'd be one that will be thwarted by you in no time!" Ichigo rounded off the last portion of the bandage, folded the flap inwards and pinned it with a clip. "That crazy Renji, for all his bullheadedness, encouraged me to send in full-length and profile shots, and even recorded me practising some random scenes in Shakespeare's Hamlet. I initially wanted those to reach the theater club in high school—a considerably large production for us final year students. Somehow, thanks to that red pineapple, he had the tapes mailed to several agencies, and you know what happened afterward."

"You were cast in that nonsensical movie," said Ulquiorra. "From Prince of Denmark to vampire, you certainly have crossed realms and transcended time vortexes with remarkable ease. The only constant factor is the madness that ensues thereafter."

"Oi," Ichigo argued. "Beggars can't be choosers. Everyone needs to start somewhere! If everyone were like you, how boring would the world be? You gotta shake it up a bit, give it some variety, breathe through the division, then sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor. I didn't expect the whole celebrity part though. It just rockets towards you huh. Guess you can identify with that—your fans are pretty nutty, if not nuttier than mine."

"I don't see them," Ulquiorra was as blind as a bat when it came to his shameless horde of fans, or he pretended to be. "What matters most is your performance. As for the rest, are those which you can hardly control. And when you can't, you don't waste time in trying to manipulate these elements. It is risky. You can't rely on others to carry you through. Take for example, your supporters and their sense of entitlement to you. One minute they can take the high and mighty approach with you, the next they can just as effortlessly dethrone you. They believe they own you—be it a piece or a sum of the parts, and you have an obligation to them.

"Which of course, is a fallacy. Idols, those living, dancing figurines which are of heterogeneous make, succumb to this phenomenon, as their supporters are the sole source of their livelihood. Without them these people are nothing. Beneath their feet lies quicksand. Beside them exists a cesspool. Once they stand still they are buried. Even if they run they don't stand a chance against time. You may argue against this flow of reasoning, but how many made it to the end? How many actually staged a comeback? Talent: true, unabridged talent, is what counts in the long run, with or without these so-called fans."

"Did you just blabber out an essay on the 'Demerits of Fame'?" Ichigo teased. "For someone who's bleeding buckets you are unbelievably talkative. And what an impressive rant! Soundly logical and utterly biased at its core," he flashed Ulquiorra a cocky smile. "Can't say I dislike this chatty and brutally honest side of you. No wonder the press loves your quips."

"I have always been honest with myself," Ulquiorra glanced at the square toaster clock on the kitchen counter. It was from his mother. "It is 9.50pm now."

"OK, OK. Quit chasing me out of your splendid palace, you clumsy twat. I'm done here, but not before..." the younger man pressed the tip of Ulquiorra's finger, and released it. "Bandage's just right, not too tight nor loose. If there's anything you should know what to do, right? I've applied sufficient pressure on the gauze, so the bleeding should stop soon. If it doesn't then it's your fault."

Ulquiorra appeared as though death came knocking early.

"Your expression alone was worth the admission," Ichigo joked. "Your injury, though not irreparable, would be a hassle for the time being, since you can't flex your fingers. You can change the bandage with one hand, I assume? Use your foot otherwise, eh, wait. Is it me or does that sound like an ape's doing? And by the way there's no way I can ever be flexible enough for that, but I bet you'll probably think 'Duh I can do anything ten times better than you do, so who are you to tell me all these?'. Such an incorrigible klutz and a snide brat you are, straight from the beginning and I should sweep up this mess lest you trip on another shard and cut yourself, and..." mindless chatter was hopelessly drowned in the hypnotic stare his co-star had him under. "And..."

"Carry on," Ulquiorra spoke nary above a whisper.

"...with what?" Ichigo stumbled to his senses. " Weren't you just shoving me out the door minutes ago?" he furrowed those arched brows, not realizing he still was cradling Ulquiorra's injured palm in his. "Not shutting me up?"

"Finish what you have to say and leave. It is the least you can do."

"Acquired a conscience in the supermarket, I presume? I never knew they came in bottles," Ichigo cheekily noted. "Alas you didn't buy enough to form a circle of consideration. No price reductions? No discounts for purchasing in bulk?"

"My conscience has always been with me, regardless of your refutable claims."

"Right as you are, you disrupted my daisy chain of thoughts!" Ichigo expounded, mischief trickling into his speech. "I was en route to composing a grand symphony of you and your villainous mannerisms."

"Which segment of the process are you preoccupied with?" the green eyed star's lips twisted into a smirk while Ichigo mooted himself to the spot. "Contemplative?"

"Sheesh," the orange haired man waved him away, then relaxed against the table's leg. "No kidding, but I was just thinking if some things in our lives didn't occur, would we run into each other the same way we did?" he rubbed his chin with a free hand. "You know, like an alternate universe. I can be the small town boy from the suburbs of Tokyo, going to a reputable medical college in the big city. After five years of academic torment I'd graduate into residency and stride down long, white, sterilized corridors with a stethoscope around my neck."

"And I would be the student who graduated with top honors and enjoyed direct enrollment into the residency program, but not before completing my postgraduate research work and garnering accolades simultaneously in a preternatural feat," said Ulquiorra, his gaze a deep forest green, his humor—God forbid, self-deprecating.

"Yeah, that's totally you," Ichigo grinned at him. "Then one day, because I'm so daft and untalented and untrained in the ways of medicine, I'd inadvertently offend your condescending and self-important ass, which hence result in us squabbling like two immature prats whenever the opportunity arises."

"Therefore concluding the relative unimportance of your cognitive process."

"You just know this scenario is bound to happen," said Ichigo, surprised to hear a dip in his usually brash voice. "I hate to say this but, the roundabout way you fashion your insults is one I can definitely take lessons from. A crying pansy to a hard as nails man, you sure have come into your own. Laudable."

"And it has been a revelation," Ulquiorra vocalized softly, a marked departure from his sniping attack of verbal virtuosity. He had something different on his mind, and sadly he hadn't an inkling what he was about to do either. His newly bandaged hand was snugly cushioned in the other man's grasp, and in the midst of the conversation their distance was bridged, and their shoulders touched. Outlines fused together in a mesh of fuzzy borders, and quietly, unhurriedly, a pair of shadows fell into step on the white marble.

Ichigo tried repaying the piercing survey with one of his own, but his eyesight would not have it. Those notoriously pink plumes hovering around Ulquiorra proved too dazzling, they literally sparkled. A clockwork animosity surrounding the raven haired man ticked toward annihilation on a self-timer, and when it erupted, was it a glitzy sight to behold.

"What?"

"This."

With temerity frequently parked in their mutual contact, Ulquiorra leaned in to kiss his co-star.


	17. Fighting It

Since that fateful night Kurosaki Ichigo had been feeling a little funny on the inside, and sometimes when he lost sight of what lay before him, the funniness invaded his sensibilities. Like a blanket they followed him everywhere he went and when he was sleeping, eating, bathing, reading, strumming the guitar, reciting his lines. They trailed after him even when he was pushing a trolley down the aisles in a local supermarket. They prowled his existence like a stealthy panther combing through plains for an antelope. Like a blanket too they enveloped him—squashing, pressing, thumping—and left him grasping at pockets of air.

He came up short.

On occasions when he sat by himself on the bed and traced a digit across his bottom lip, it became more than a little funny. The atmosphere was no longer a blanket strewn over his head. It became a hydraulic pump, the meter geared to its highest, shooting into the stratosphere. He felt asphyxiated, drowning in a bottomless pit even. The feathery sensation messed with his head, pulling him under, and many a time he thought it atrocious. Trapped in a whirl spiraling downward, the significance of all that took place boomed into a rainbow of emotions.

What was a chaste peck on the lips compared to the hefty make-out sessions he had with the green eyed man? What was a light touch drafted across his left cheek compared to the heat encapsulated in their feigned gropings of each other? What was a bout of silence lingering in the air compared to their frequent squabbles? What was then compared to those he was used to? A momentary lapse in judgment on each man's part? Was that truly the case? What else could a mere smooch, touch and go, be?

One so thinly veiled with something amiss, an action so stripped to its core, what more one that could easily pass off as a Westerner's way of greeting, mean to them—both the initiator and recipient? Because that was what it stood for: nothing but a kiss, and only the simplest of kisses.

And yet the painfully rudimentary conclusion made Ichigo fretted like there were ants in his pants. There were a million 'Why's, a couple more 'What's, and question marks hovering over something primarily inconsequential on its own. They did naught to allay his fears of a foreign sentiment creeping in. There was nothing wrong with doing so—the kiss that was, absolutely no fault found. If there was one it had to lie with Ulquiorra Schiffer, because he initiated it.

Yes, the blame was to be placed on the silent raven haired man. _Yes yes yes!_ Not him—not Ichigo. Never! It was conceptually far-fetched to blame someone who had been kissed, to retract what he had sought to reciprocate when reality awoke in the nick of time.

 

* * *

 

Apathy reigned over the duo the next two days.

For all the unwarranted kiss was worthed, neither brought up the issue, particularly Ulquiorra, who refrained from approaching Ichigo whenever possible. When they went through their lines, the green eyed star made sure to distance himself. When they reached a lovemaking scene he skipped over it, praying Ichigo wouldn't notice. Physical contact was ruled out entirely and the vociferous orange haired star did find it puzzling. Owing which he didn't mention the oddity, and simply attributed the reason to a change of plans on the whim. And it was better that way; who knew what could be in store once the proverbial Pandora's box was opened?

They understood—only too well, and that was why they did what they did.

Both men practised all they could without trespassing into each other's bubble, and sometimes when the mood grew livelier, cheeky quips and sarcastic comments would zip around like unrestrained arrows. Ulquiorra's attitude remained condescending, never failing to criticize his co-star at any given opportunity, and never resisting the outspoken urge to put him in his rightful place. No matter what he did, he couldn't fight the undercurrent surging from within. He was being prickly as a porcupine and dispassionate—his method of dealing with trifling, niggling issues, but the changes kicked in when Ichigo expressed concerns regarding his injury one late Tuesday afternoon.

"It's nothing of note," Ulquiorra quipped, sooty eyebrows knotting together.

He was alright when they maintained their distance from each other, and now he grew uptight because Ichigo shifted nearer to him. It perturbed him—surely there was plenty of space on the settee? It could house a party of six if necessary, and there the pesky orange haired man was, inching towards him with every shift of his rump. If the latter were permitted to carry on, their knees would touch, their shoulders would bump, and who knew what might happen again. Had Ichigo developed short term memory loss over the weekend? That what happened in the aftermath was an awkward smattering of seconds and hasty scrambling to their feet?

"Hey," Ichigo exclaimed, "it wouldn't hurt _just_ to let me have a look? And if it really hurts all the more I should be allowed to take a look!"

"I was fine by myself over the weekend. I don't see any potential faults arising."

"Ever heard of the term 'unforeseen circumstances'? It could very well pipe up now!" Ichigo argued. No words could discourage him from his personal crusade. Whether he liked it or not, his protective nature sometimes got the best of him. "Come on. Much as I dislike you I don't really want to start this 'camaraderie' thing afresh with another actor. It's taxing enough as it already is!"

"Of the above stated I find myself agreeing with you, unbelievable as it is," replied Ulquiorra, his glance wry, his posture straight but wary. Wary of whatever was about to unfold before them, and the short history he was most keen to forget. "It would be an obscene felony to interact with someone of your likes, again."

"Oh shut up will you? You can't get anyone who's _worse_ than me," Ichigo reached for the raven haired man's palm. "What a difficult patient you are, Ulquiorra bloody Schiffer. Serves you right; even your plate wants to do you some violence!"

"I suggest you watch your words," Ulquiorra warned, withdrew his hand, and scooted away to the tip of the settee. "This is after all my residence."

"If I listened to you, my name wouldn't be Kurosaki Ichigo," the younger star boasted proudly, and in his obnoxiousness shunted the shadows of Friday night. "Suppose you really are an amnesiac as your mom claimed—most likely convenient amnesia, maybe I should reiterate the events, and cast it in a favorable slant towards me."

"What about it?" Ulquiorra was exceptional in replacing coyness with forthright impertinence. He would be crazy if he were to admit what he had done. "What exactly are you trying to underline?"

"Why!" Ichigo began aloud. "It's just you being klutzy and a retard of the highest order, followed by my well-handled bandaging of your stupid palm and then we talked a bit, and you...y-you..." the initial bravado simmered down to an inaudible mutter. "Uh...y-you...m-m-me...me...y-you..."

"What about _me_ now?" Eyes of a cool beryl shade shone challengingly, their rays like lasers boring holes into destruction. "Then again I'm not expecting _you_ to extol my virtues."

A leaky mouth here and there and that was it. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

"We should revert to the script," Ulquiorra dismissed. "Everything else was a figment of your imagination."

"Figment of my imagination?" Ichigo squawked shrilly, his pitch rising with every syllable. Sooner or later it would peak and glasses and windows would detonate into rainy shards. _F-Figment of my goddamn imagination? My imagination?_ He couldn't quite believe his ears: had he been suffering in this personal purgatory?

"There is absolutely no need for me to repeat myself."

"B-But you...y-you...we...k-k-is.s..k..i..we..w-e..!"

Once again Kurosaki Ichigo was a beacon of sparkling eloquence. He was no longer Ichigo the swoon inducing heartthrob who captured Japan's imaginations and fulfilled their one-sided supernatural fantasies. He was just another man, tongue-tied, stupendous, and zealous in proving whatever the something bugging him was to the superior Ulquiorra. The younger star tried so hard, in the end his efforts amounted to not even a lousy pittance, but zilch. He was destined to prove himself as a stuttering idiot once more, a painful contrast to his co-star's chilly appearance.

The belated realization sunk in soon after, and Ichigo took time to consolidate his thoughts—what on sweet heavens was he getting so worked up over for—he wondered, and insisted, "I don't think I was hallucinating, and you were the one who was bleeding to near death. So who's to speak?"

"Even so," Ulquiorra sniffed with abjection, "it was merely a test. Do not over-analyze the things that _never_ are. Conserve your already depleting mental energies for more significant activities such as memorizing your dialogue and learning to keep your trap sealed at appropriate timings."

"Never are?" Ichigo echoed in disbelief. None of what he currently experienced made sense, and all of them rattled his cage. "Sometimes you speak in alien tongues, you know that? Does confusing people and driving them to their wits' end really satisfy you? Sadist."

"If you insist," Ulquiorra turned away. "There is nothing much I can do to change your mind, obstinate as you are."

"Yeah, if I'm obstinate then you're as callous as a witch!"

"In the event logic fails you, I will say this," Ulquiorra grimaced, his feathers soundly ruffled. "Anything that happened and could happen will simply be practice for the movie and that—"

"Is everything _just_ a test to you?" the younger man cried, outraged by several reasons unknown. "Right, right. Sometimes I forget I'm talking to a black-hearted prick like you, and it just has to happen when I figured we could possibly be you know, overcome our, you know, differences or," he searched for words to convey the melting pot of emotions in him. The pair of inquisitive emerald orbs following him only worsened his instability. "Never mind."

"So be it," Ulquiorra Schiffer replied, and left the room with his head hung low before anyone or anything could make him change his mind, or spy the peachy glow creeping across his face like the beginnings of dawn upon a snowy slate.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday shuddered awake with rabid downpours, and snuggled between cotton sheets and a quilt cover was Kurosaki Ichigo, limp with sleep. Razor-like strands of brightness splayed onto the pillow, and all signs of sight were blocked out by an arm. Strong legs wound themselves around a fat bolster, and tired grunts echoed themselves within four walls. Rain drops splattered against the window panes, tip-tap, tip-tap, a drowsy melody. They went again and again on a loop—tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap, until Ichigo's cell phone jolted the world into action with its thirty second version of Aerosmith's Can't Stop Messin'.

Ichigo reached for his phone, untying his legs from the bolster in disgruntlement. "What?" he barked. "Who's there?" A honk burst in his left ear. "Hello—h" Another honk. "—ello?"

Booming thunder cracked in the background, then came some connection fuzz, and finally an endless season of silence.

"What?" Ichigo was short of busting his lungs out at the mysterious caller. He never was a morning person, let alone being disrupted on a freezing morning as this. "Hello? Hello? Hello? H~ello?"

"It's me."

" _You?_ "

"Yes. Me."

"Who in the feckin' world are you and why the hell did you take such a long time to find your voice you—" Ichigo found the quiet tone weirdly familiar. "C-Corpse face?"

"By that presumptuous phrasing I hope you mean me."

"Don't play riddles with me early in the morning, I'm telling you," the younger man grumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes as he sat up in his bed. The newly washed bedsheets crumpled under his sluggish movements. "So _you_ are that bloody idiot with the damn huge house and luxurious couch and an incurable case of the denials."

"Where do you live?"

"Where do I _live_...wait!" Ichigo tossed the covers off him. "Wait wait wait! Why do you want to know?" his sleep-laden voice became bright with caution. "Unless you have a troop of paparazzi planted outside, waiting to catch me unawares, right? And on a dozy Wednesday morning too! What's wrong with you? I know there's filming and there's practice at your place—oh shit. It's already ten," he checked the wall clock in reluctant panic, "but hey—a guy gotta sleep when he gotta sleep! Don't tell me you hurt your palm again? Seriously man, didn't you find me a nag when I left your house yesterday? I said to leave the dishes to me if it's a hassle for you to wash them! Either that or could you please get a dishwasher? It's dirt cheap according to your bank balance and there's only so many plates you can break, _Quiqui_!"

"I am _perfectly_ fine," Ulquiorra was bristled with the reappearance of his childhood nickname. "It's Sakana who isn't."

"Sakana?"

"Yes. She hasn't been eating since last night, and my car is undergoing some mandatory maintenance."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Worry crept into Ichigo's voice. "Sheesh, trust you to leave things to the last minute! And of all things you sent your car at this juncture for repair? How very typical of you, crazy dumbass with the green eyeliner."

"You speak as if Sakana's illness is premeditated."

"She must be sick of you, that's what. Any sensible being would be depressed just by looking at you," Ichigo chuffed. "How about bringing her to a vet? Take a cab to the nearest clinic? I'm sure there are a few down Roppongi Hills. Those that equate an upscale apartment's monthly rental fee for minutes of consultation. Is that why you called me? Strange reasoning, but your actions are beyond comprehension anyway."

"Do you know of any reputable veterinarian? That is my main question to you. Previously you mentioned your father is a doctor."

"Excuse my foolishness, but when exactly has a cat's anatomy resembled that of a human's? To think you passed your first year in med school! Unbelievable."

"I understand that perfectly, but I—" Ulquiorra didn't know how to react in a manner that wouldn't be deemed as uncharacteristic. Truth was, Kurosaki Ichigo was the first name that came to mind when he scrolled down his list of contacts, seeking help. He couldn't comprehend how his co-star's number was saved in his phone in the first place, given his notoriety for building walls around himself on the set. He didn't remember asking for it either. Ichigo's contact was simply there, waiting—no, flirting with his forefinger to tap the 'Dial' tab.

"I—the clinic which I usually bring her to is closed for the week."

"Yeah, OK. That really is quite some bit of terrible luck. So you want me to locate another clinic for you? Gee, when did I become a street directory? And when did I become _your_ personal Yellow Pages or whatever," Ichigo noticed the background was filled with motor vehicles zipping about on puddles of water, with their engines going vroom-vroom-vroom in a symphony of pollutions. Briefly he wondered if the green eyed actor had a large enough umbrella to shelter both Sakana and him from the unrelenting rain.

"Perhaps you might know of some in your precinct."

"Ain't too hard for me," Ichigo rested his head against the wall, the black cell phone wedged between cheek and shoulder. "There's this hmm...pet clinic somewhere down the road from where I live. Excellent by my standards, but I'm not certain if you're gonna think the same way as I do. It's a hygienic place—no worries about that. The procedures are proper too, and the price—it doesn't matter eh?"

"Money comes and goes," Ulquiorra philosophized.

"I've seen pets come and go too, as in, they go into the shop alive and emerge chipper. Sometimes they get so chip that on a lousy day I wish they wear muzzles around their snouts. Don't worry about being discovered, big shot. The crowds there are few and far between, especially on a horrible day like this. Does that sound OK to you?"

"That will do. Is the veterinarian a friendly person?"

"Definitely," the orange haired man snorted at his co-star's choice of question. "As friendly as a cute pup, if that kinda thing's straight up your alley."

"I accept your suggestion."

"Cool, you're agreeable for once," Ichigo pushed himself off the bed. "So, where are you now? Need me to go pick you up? But I won't take away the need to prove your courage by braving the storm on your own."

"In line at a taxi stand. Give me your address, I will be there."

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Ulquiorra Schiffer arrived at the doorstep with a semi-conscious ginger kitty in his arms. A duckbill green cap was pulled low over his eyes, the curved brim casting a shadow over the unhidden portion of his face. He was relieved that the downpour had reduced to a slight drizzle. Being stranded outside and subjected to nature's wrath wasn't something he held in great anticipation, especially when his beloved pet was in ailing health.

Ulquiorra scanned the surroundings around him before shutting the damp umbrella with one hand, and tucking it behind a shoe shed. The house he was now standing before was tucked neatly in a suburban district of Tokyo, far away from the noise and lights of inner Tokyo. A silver Subaru Impreza was parked in the driveway, its windscreen dotted with droplets and fallen leaves.

_A Subaru?_ Ulquiorra pondered. He always guessed that Ichigo, as indicative of other up and coming starlets, would opt for a flashy vehicle to plunder the highways with and to park before the most highly rated nightspots. A fiery red Ferrari proves most popular with this crowd, with the quintessential yellow Lamborghini a close second. To them the choice of vehicle spoke volumes about their statuses. They have to be 'in' at all costs. To Ulquiorra that merely broadcasted the start of their descent into obscurity. For these people—a blatant waste of space according to the green eyed actor, they enter the industry with a blood lust for fame and will stop at nothing to have their way. They are flashy and bank on everything they could offer to the ones who could elevate them to super stardom. They will flaunt and strut about, and never go for something as practical and steadfast as a Subaru. Said vehicle is priced economically too—with Ichigo's annual income he could easily afford a fleet of those if he wished to. Ultimately it boiled down to his personal choice. Ultimately it gave away a part of him Ulquiorra was mistaken about previously.

He rang the doorbell once, then twice, and in his haste almost thrice. The sequence was broken up by a petite young girl with large kind eyes, who answered the door promptly. She wore a checkered apron over her dress, and had a pink clip clasped in her honey brown hair. _Those saccharine types,_ Ulquiorra thought _._

What happened next was typical a reaction whenever he was out in the public: the girl's jaws instantly slackened, her mouth hung ajar, and she rapidly blinked then rubbed her eyes in disbelief. _No way!_ She rubbed them again, those soft hazel orbs enlarging, and stared at him curiously, then at the ginger kitty nestling in his embrace prior to a grand return of staring at him. This time her gaze was alit with acknowledgment and brazen surprise.

"Are you..." the girl squealed. "A-Are you...?"

"Is Kurosaki Ichigo around?" asked Ulquiorra. "Or have I gotten the wrong address?" He looked around again, considering the possibility of his co-star blabbering incoherent rubbish over the phone. After all the neighborhood he was in did appear a little too normal for someone whose name was frequently spotted in polls and media coverages nationwide.

"U-Uh, you're looking f-for...uh...Ichi-nii?"

"Ichi ni...?" Ulquiorra was confused. _What is the girl saying? One, two?_ "No, I'm not referring to numbers."

"Yuzu, what's taking you so long at the door?" another voice called out from beyond the living room. Though it was rougher, the source was evidently female.

"K-Karin, I t-t-think it's..." the girl named Yuzu continued to stumble over her words.

"Come on, Yuzu, you're taking forever! If it's the pizza man take the pizza from his hands and slam the door in his pudgy face! If it's the paper boy take the newspaper from his bike and tell him to just chuck it under the door next time!" Karin's voice grew louder as she drew nearer. "If it's a vacuum cleaner salesman tell him Dad ain't at home and there's no more room for another! We've thirteen unused vacuum cleaners lounging in the store room—no thanks to that overly charitable goat-face who falls for the oldest trick in the book! If it's someone else tell him we're calling the police if he doesn't get lost now!"

"Apologies for inconveniencing you," said Ulquiorra as he turned to retrieve his umbrella. "I shall take my leave now."

"No please—"

"Hey," Kurosaki Karin called out. "What do you want with us?"

"Karin—wait. It's..." Yuzu whispered into her twin's ear. "And he's looking for Ichi-nii!"

"Eh? Who...what?!"

"Look closely!"

"What's there to look at? He's just another irritating idiot who drops by unannounced to swindle both unsuspecting old folks and gullible youngsters alike, thinking he could pass off a pebble as an unpolished gem unearthed from the soils of Africa or excrement from ostriches—oh!" the inky haired girl gasped as images from magazines, television, movies, newspapers combined together to complete the puzzle. "Oh great Pele! Isn't this...?"

"Y-Yes! Excuse me, but are you...oh my god, are you _the_ U-U-Ulquiorra Schiffer?"

"Darn right he is!" Karin peered attentively at Ulquiorra. "I bet my football on the sheer ludicrousness of life he is! Definitely! That old man's going to have a fit when he learns of this!" she chirped, sullen dark eyes brightening in mischief. "He went out like a loser just ten minutes ago, and here his idol is, at our doorstep in the flesh! Boy oh boy is he going to have a life-stopping fit!"

"Several times I have been told," said Ulquiorra, shifting his pet's weight to another arm. The affected limb was growing numb with sustained pressure. "That I _resemble_ him."

Groans of disappointment dutifully chimed in unison.

"Which in turn is a pile of nutty shit spun by a professional liar!" Ichigo yelled. He dashed down the steps, taking three in each stride, fueled by the commotion going on downstairs. "You can lie to anyone in the world except my two sisters! Oh, and your nice mom of course. That would be _so_ wrong."

"Here you are," Ulquiorra raised his head, "just when I figured I was dealt a prank by you."

"Who would have the nerve to make a _fool_ out of you? Well, not even I, the so-called trickster who was rudely poked awake by you on several occasions," Ichigo ushered his co-star into the house. A fluffy bath towel was draped over his shoulders since he was fresh from the shower, and smelled of juicy berries. "You did a commendable job of staying dry when the world around you is drowning in rainwater," he noted the relative well being of his co-star's attire, "here, why don't you just take a seat somewhere. I'll be back down in a jiffy with the car keys. And I'm driving my own car, OK? You asked for my help, hence you are in no position to bargain!"

"Alright, you have my word."

"Great. Well then, yeah, just, I don't know, hang around, chat with my sisters a little—do not bully them, or maybe have some hot drinks to warm yourself. The dispenser and coffee maker and whatever you may need are in the kitchen. And uh," Ichigo hesitated to look Ulquiorra in the eyes. "You look kinda chilly. Need erm, uh...an extra jacket or something? I have a few in my closet to spare. Not each and every one of them is designer material, but they do the job."

The green eyed man gaped at him funnily. "I am fine."

"OK, tough guy," Ichigo shrugged. "Your say. By the way, you can place Sakana on the sofa if you want to. We wipe it every weekend and disinfect it thoroughly every two months, so rest assured you both won't be infected with minute bedbugs or whatsoever. You really should put her down," the younger man couldn't resist giving the docile ginger cat a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears. "Going by how you feed Sakana, her weight gain might cause your silly gash in the palm to open up."

"No, it won't."

"Be my guest," he relented. The last thing he needed on a morning was to pick an argument with Ulquiorra Schiffer. Tuesday ended on a flat note and he wished to get rid of the bitter aftertaste that arose whenever he recalled how furtive and manipulative his co-star was in the handling of his claims. He simply couldn't understand Ulquiorra, in spite of his efforts. It was regrettable, but irreversible too.

"And...Yuzu, Karin," Ichigo continued, snapping his fingers for attention. "Quit ogling him like that. It's embarrassing. You might just inflate his ridiculously sized ego and with any luck, you might just turn into Dad. That geezer is permanently starstruck!"

"But this is _Ulquiorra Schiffer—_ oh sweet Maradona, it's _the_ Ulquiorra of the movie screen and magazine covers we are talking about here, Ichi-nii!" Karin protested. "Who for reasons that surpass my intelligence quotient is sitting on our couch, in our very modestly sized Kurosaki living room. As of now his pet cat is lying on the quilted cushion Yuzu purchased at the local hundred yen store five months ago! How grand."

"It's an honor to the Kurosaki household," Yuzu beamed in reflected pride. "Okaa-chan would approve of this!"

"I appear on the movie screen too," Ichigo countered. "Why don't I get this kinda preferential treatment? Unfair."

"Who cares really?" Karin continued to gawp at Ulquiorra. "We see you everyday, so it'll be retarded if we were to fangirl you. Don't you find it annoying? I for one get pissed off when those silly cows in college join the girls' soccer team just because they want me to get a piece of you! As if I would—not for a million yen even. Talk about teammates with benefits. Talk about combining a sports co-curricular activity with celebrity obsession. We ain't a two for one package deal!"

"True...but—"

"Ichi-nii, get over yourself!" Karin smirked, and left her brother speechless.

"We hope your adorable little kitty loves the cushion, and we have a poster of you in our room! It's the one of you in the promotional still for your second movie. We're all fans of it," Kurosaki Yuzu blushed, fingers fiddling with the hem of her apron. "Would you care to autograph it for us?"

"Nah, don't bother asking him that. He won't do that—"

Ulquiorra appeared insulted. "May I have a pen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pele and Maradona are footballing greats.


	18. Some Times, Some Things

After venturing to the pet clinic nearby, the trio of two famous men and an asleep cat wound up in Ichigo's silver Subaru. This time, fortunately, the cloudburst regained its dripping fervor when they were en route to the sheltered walkway, and the younger man had the primitive intelligence to park his car nearby. Without a driblet on their bodies they boarded the Subaru. With a blare of the engine they left the neighborhood and into the city.

They drove a few miles in accompanied solitude. Rows of houses preceded sprawling complexes, which blurred into towering buildings and behemoth malls as they entered the hustle-bustle of inner Tokyo. It wasn't before long when Ichigo found the silence suffocating. He was too accustomed to having cutting exchanges with his co-star that he could hardly keep still in the face of inactivity. If the Ulquiorra Schiffer of the unwarranted morning call and house visit was a sparkling, effervescent glass of champagne, then the him of now was a can of stout served chilled.

The raven haired man might be no woman, Ichigo mused, but sometimes he behaved as though he was. He was so practised in his habitual quirks that his unpredictability enjoyed equal weightage. One could never know which Ulquiorra Schiffer would turn up at the ball. One consistent pattern was his prim and proper, albeit finicky, dressing round the clock, and hoity-toity attitude available to all at large.

_Except the vet. He was pretty nice to him. Probably didn't want Sakana-chan to be jabbed with some lethal substance, ha ha._

Ichigo flipped on the stereo and lowered the volume by several notches, so they could converse without going at each other like ravenous vultures tearing viscera from carcasses. Hearing the other man's impassive baritone might have him develop intentions of throwing a chair out the window at times, but not hearing it made everything all the funnier. He wondered why, and it was not only because the older actor often had bizarre pearls of wisdom to impart.

"Does this FM station suit your _classy_ tastes? Or is classic rock too cheap for you?" The channel was Ichigo's personal favorite, and he had set it as default.

To the question Ulquiorra answered with reticence. Through the soundless vigil he kept a radio DJ reported the latest traffic updates in the precinct, cautioning motorists to be wary of slippery roads and not to speed along highways. She bade her farewell afterward, giving way to the lunchtime segment, and a modern rock tune came on. A rhythmic beating of drums, a screechy electric guitar riff and thick bass lines accentuated the absence of words.

"Hello? Earth to this spaced out alien here! Any opinion on this?" Ichigo tried. He tapped his fingers against the mauve dashboard for additional effect. Still there was no reply. Heavy strumming rounded off the song and into the next. It was AC/DC's Highway To Hell.

_No shit._

Kurosaki Ichigo decided to try again. "Figured you might have some advice to dish out, given your self-imposed authority on each and every niggling matter under the sun."

Ulquiorra Schiffer's lips stayed tightly pursed, refusing to emit any sound, almost fearful of what ideas he might give Ichigo as a result. The centerpiece of his brooding was none other than the ones closest to him currently. There were two: the cat and the man. Initially it was only the cat, but the man ruthlessly wormed his way in. As seconds paced forward, the man more, the cat lesser. Thus deeper the conundrum was. Alas he was an actor, and he did what actors do for a living.

_**They act.** _

He put on an act.

Concocting a blank exterior was basic and painless. Concocting a blank exterior to cover up undercurrents lapping and lashing ferociously into a sinking whirlpool demanded greater effort on his part. To triumph he must not give himself away.

Hence he shan't speak.

Kurosaki Ichigo knew who he was up against here—scrutinizing Ulquiorra's pasty complexion, his was a pair of dense brown orbs searching for solutions. In the midst he decided he could be better off talking to cattle grazing the green pastures, or herding sheep with a staff. _At least they'd bother to moo, bleat, and boot you out of their territory—the bulls that is._

Gloomy clouds hung above as they cruised down wet roads and swiveled into streets, and sometimes the crackling of thunder distorted the stereo's reception _._ Songs came and went, buzzed and fizzled, sinking into the dearth as did Ulquiorra's ubiquitous thoughts. They lay with deep puddles located by roadsides, where rainwater pooled, trespassed and splashed about as motor vehicles zipped past with no remorse or whatsoever. In the toxic trail of exhaust fumes his thoughts fled with them.

"Hey," Ichigo called. He observed Ulquiorra's gaze weaving in and out of reality like an intricate pattern one sees in a kaleidoscope. A slight frown crumpled his porcelain lineaments, making him sterner than usual. "Don't look so grumpy and frumpy like an old maid. You already are as angsty-looking as they come, even without your sad, clownish facial makeup. Anyway, just to reinforce the good news, the vet said Sakana's only caught a minor stomach flu, and she'd be fine after a few days. Feed her with the medicine and come on, she's a strong little creature! No point getting browbeat over it."

His co-star nodded an indiscernible nod, his thin but well-defined lips unmoving from the firm line they formed.

The car stopped before a red light, and Ichigo took the opportunity to free both hands from the steering wheel. He thought of placing one upon his co-star's shoulder, but decided against it. No particular reason—he just didn't enjoy the possibility of a precision and care employed in handling Ulquiorra's wound, he scratched the ginger cat's belly with his fingertips. "She's going to recover _really_ speedily and then face your dejected mien on a daily basis, sorry as I am for her. I am so sorry that no words can quite replace my sympathy for the kitty."

Ulquiorra's head bobbed absentmindedly again, jade orbs fixated on the hustle of pedestrian activity beyond the windscreen. A pair of wipers swiped rain pellets to the left, then right, and left, then right again. Around him a bouquet of charcoal clouds danced in tandem, swirling themselves into cherubic blossoms. From the nexus of gaudy red dots a garnet beam was projected. Light travels in a straight line, but the falling rain altered its course. Red parachuted from above and splattered everywhere over the glass, them droplets cascading freely down the bonnet and onto the roads, into the drainage, into the sewers, into the ground where the same undercurrents he held close to his chest, whirl and chart an undignified course into the wide, open sea. They were reminiscent of...

_Blood._

He closed his eyes.

_Hand._

He opened them.

_Bandage._

His eyes flitted shut again, and with it the memories of a careless action clawed at his consciousness, nibbling away at his defenses, setting himself up as a frail creature, easily susceptible to acts of benevolence. He unconsciously touched his recovering palm, and through the clean gauze he felt warmth diffusing into his cheeks.

Beside him was a clueless Ichigo, not knowing who or what bothered his co-star so greatly. If he had known, it would be a travesty—onto himself. He reckoned Ulquiorra's mind was plagued by some unknown virus. A virus that he himself was not immune to either. He knew not. Then again he knew. The raven haired man tended to act this way or another, blatantly banishing everyone else to the periphery. Arcane, the man certainly was. Now that Ichigo enjoyed most of Ulquiorra's personalized attention on a near daily basis, he was not going to be ignored.

"Don't tell me you're trying to be me, with the non-stop frowning and stuff. Actually I don't frown all the time, see?" Kurosaki Ichigo relaxed his facial muscles and mustered a pathetic grin. "It's no longer contorted, and I'm as blithe as a lark! See? See? This," he proffered at the stretching curve. "Is a shining example of a brilliant smile. Note the sparkle that escorts it!"

"You are an absolutely horrendous actor," said Ulquiorra, without so much a glimpse in Ichigo's direction. His defense slinked away like raindrops hitting against the windscreen, attempting to erode glass. "Does your direness know no bounds?"

"Unappreciative as always, aren't you?" Ichigo instantly erased the smile and put on his infamous scowl. _At last an answer! A lousy one but...I'd take it._

It was obvious he would be dissed no matter what he did, but reception of proof that the many parts and circuits which made up Ulquiorra Schiffer were functioning together as an effective unit; as puzzling and foreign the emotion was, gladdened his heart. He immediately felt like a sappy fool. He immediately felt the need to say something mean to his co-star:

"Don't get too choked up when you open your mouth later."

The green eyed actor brushed an ashen hand through the sleek coat of apricot and khaki, all the while shooting spaced out stares at the rear view mirror. He raised the cat's paw, and tilted the pink pad towards Ichigo cartoonishly. "She thanks you," said he, softly.

"That's very courteous of Sakana-chan," Ichigo stepped on the accelerator pedal as the red became green. They swept past a garbage truck, a red cab, some buses, before returning to their lane. "What about her owner? I may be incredibly nice, but sometimes a showing of decorum inspires better after services."

"We shall see to it that you improve by leaps and bounds before filming resumes in twelve days," Ulquiorra implored. It was marvelous how hastily his tone changed. Words meant to express gratitude channeled coercion instead. Discreetly he chewed on his bottom lip, locked in semi-regret, and said, "You have my assurance, but don't think of surpassing me anytime in the plausible future. Rome wasn't built in a day, but in the event of freak occurrences, an acting trophy could fall at your feet like snow in September."

"And January has April showers," quipped Ichigo, tongue in cheek. "Sadly that will have to wait." He gripped the steering wheel and swerved left into an empty driveway.

"You are no immortal," Ulquiorra deadpanned.

"Duh. That's precisely why I'm practising hard on my own these days. Don't believe me?" The younger man witnessed skepticism leaping across his co-star's distinct features. "I knew it. Ah, the trial and tribulations of being Ulquiorra Schiffer: A Cynical Bastard. You sure can hold your own under troubling circumstances."

Ulquiorra flashed him a look of nonchalance. "Go to my place now."

"Yeah I know." Ichigo honked at a sluggish green Volvo before them. "Can't you see I'm heading for Roppongi Hills, home of the rich and undeserved, land of glorious decadence? As if the massive street signs and digital advertisement boards flashing brainwashing signals passing you by every 500m and hanging from every space available—left, right, up, down ain't obvious enough," he rolled his eyes with a touch of dramatic flair.

"And I'm not wicked enough to dump you by the roadside. I don't do things halfway—can't believe how much I've repeated that. Almost sickening," said Ichigo, tittering. "If Karin were here with us now, she'd probably kick me in the jaws for being an overrun rag. Too bad you didn't see that goateed old man. He'd probably drool all over you and prevent you from leaving," he said with a sprawling grin. "Only Yuzu suffers his dramatic shit. The rest of us, Karin and I, no effing way!"

"I appreciate the cutting frankness of your younger sister. I don't undermine the worldly understanding your other sister shows. Aside from a semblance of virtuousness, she appears to be wise beyond her years. As for your father, it is not within my moralistic means to comment."

"You, morals? Excuse me."

His pallid co-star ignored him and continued, "Every one has a role to play in a household, and I daresay no two persons occupy an identical position. Not even fraternal twins. It cannot be, for everything has a purpose in society. Everything has to be in its right place, and the composition of a household—a family, is quite, simply put, that of a micro level. A patriarchal figurehead, and alongside him a woman. Then there are the children. Harbingers of joy and pain alike. They fulfill their roles too, as required of society. As beings who need protection and grow up to take their place as protectors of their household. The cycle repeats itself, and in every round, in place of a lack of matriarchal identity, there will be one child amidst the group who shoulders the most responsibility. This is highly resonant in yours."

"Coming from one as morally bankrupt as you, that sounds a bit rich and conservative," Ichigo laughed. "I suppose you are well educated enough to disguise your rotten core with collegiate rhetoric and elegant theories."

"I am but anything you suppose I may be."

"Nah, I'm not interested in guessing who you may or may not be. I've got better things to deal with, such as staring at paint dry and mowing the lawn. Or moving the 1,001 vacuum cleaners taking up precious space in our store room! You need one?"

"A vacuum cleaner?"

"Yep. I'll let you have them cheap. Dirt cheap. We're talking basement sale prices here!"

"No."

"What about your mom? She looks like she uses one?"

"No."

"Uncle, auntie, cousin? I'm sure if that blue haired psycho uses plastic combs with pointed ends, a vacuum cleaner shouldn't be too much of an issue, right?"

"...no."

"The pizza man, your personal stylist, the nice security guard downstairs? As a reward for suffering you?"

A lackluster glare crossed the pale actor's visage. "You won't take no for an answer, would you?"

"That's me," Ichigo gloated. "I made you talk lots in the end, didn't I? Ooh, chatty _Quiqui_!"

"Vacuum cleaners?" Ulquiorra inquired, completely disregarding the reappearance of an undesirable name. "What is next then? Washing detergent? Laundry powder? Bathroom mats? Does this reflect the swamp-like quality of your mind, imbecilic sponger?"

"Hey!" the younger star protested. "They are a decent topic. Anything related to household cleanliness is—I believe you won't refute that. The state of a home is tantamount to the state of one's sanity. Thank god for Yuzu. Without her, might I add the House of Kurosaki will be in shambles. If I were a pessimist, it would be non-existent by now!"

"Indeed. Be it human or machine, it is important that they bear contribution to prove the value of their existence."

Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't pass up on the chance to poke fun at his severe co-star. It was served to him on a silver platter, garnished and had scrumptious fruit slices dotting the sides. "You feel a tinge of loneliness, don't you? One single man, all alone and holed up in a spacious house. As an only child, you have no siblings to grate your nerves and send you teetering over with rage. Everyday you wake up to nothing but an expanse of space, and your cat is evidently bored. Probably yes. Probably no. Never mind that. Have you ever longed to wake up to someone calling out, 'Breakfast's done, so hurry down now before so and so finishes it!' or someone standing in your doorway, screaming, 'Fire! Earthquake! Bombs!' every other second just to shake you awake? I know, I used to suffer from unnecessary cardiac arrests. No joke. They were unstoppable, all the way from junior school to high school!"

"That explains the latent insanity you wield."

"Jeez. Wait till you know how unpleasant they are. Every yell leaves you feeling numb in the chest and in a constant state of shock for the rest of the day. All in all a most traumatic experience most can do without, but hey, you need some noise in a house. It livens things up. Makes you have a sense of belonging, that you have a place amid these friendly chaos. Makes you feel at peace with the world too. Ironic huh, noise and peace co-existing in a single space, creating harmony, or...how should I put it?" Ichigo pondered as he pushed the aluminum pedal and sped ahead. "Say, something like a magnetic force to pull you to the ground, to make you stand firmly, to keep you rooted."

"That is termed as having a center of gravity."

Concurrence zinged across Ichigo's warm brown depths. "Center of gravity. I like that. Yeah, center of gravity, alright. Regardless of how low you spin on your heel or head, so long your center of gravity is there, you might fall flat on your bum, but you won't end up orbiting around fruitlessly. Still, I just can't imagine moving out and living by myself. Not that I fear loneliness or I am a sticky son who suckles on a milk bottle or whatever, but, to me, it just takes away the whole..." he said with a crease between his eyebrows. Once again his vocabulary failed him.

"Domestic experience?" Ulquiorra suggested. The very thought of the unsuspecting Kurosaki Ichigo waking up to a staged earthquake, confused and fearful, cracked him up from the inside.

"That's the word! Domestic experience!"

"So that spells out everything." Ulquiorra figured it was time to zero in on the many queries he had regarding his younger co-star as of late. "It's a rarity to see grown men leeching off their parents. Especially those earning high salaries."

"Oi. Just because you live alone doesn't imply others have to follow suit. I like where I am now, and that's what matters most. Nobody's kicking me out either. Who cares for your snooty opinion? I'm all for filial piety and family values. I'm well-schooled in Confucian values and I have every intention to upkeep them."

The green eyed actor peered askance at Ichigo. "Doesn't being apart from your...associates bother you?"

"Work is work. After getting off the cameras, I don't really fancy myself lingering around the area. It's too complicated for my liking. As for my so called associates, let's see. I think there are two types, generally speaking. One is mine, and the other is yours. Mine is the wild party-goer, the devil-may-care hell-raiser with colored hair and piercings and tattoos and god knows what bodily embellishments. We are the media whores, which is precisely why I need to get away from that damned place. Not everyone is what we are portrayed as, even though I can't say the same for the rest. Sadly, most times the media is spot on."

Ulquiorra cocked his head, wanting to hear more.

"Yours is the conceited crowd, people who reckon themselves the toast of the industry. Most likely they are pretentious bastards who suppose after reading Western and Japanese classics, the wisdom seeps into their brains. Suddenly," he snapped his fingers together, "they become the 21st century versions of Aristophanes and Homer! Think they're probably too cool, too up there to bother about everything else, but in truth they Google themselves all the time."

"You seem to bear a grudge against them," said Ulquiorra.

"Just stating the facts as they are," said Ichigo, as he recalled rows of aghast expressions when he was called to the front for his audition performance.

"Do you think I belong to the latter group?"

"No way," Ichigo coughed. "Nah, you aren't. Used to think you are, but now, I know. You really can't be assed at all. These people pretend to be intelligent, taking quotes from famous men and passing them off as their own, coming up with their own schools of thought—obviously copied, and hoping to influence the masses. You are quite different. As in, you do have the caliber to do as you say and you say what you think. You don't bother to do good, you don't bother to do bad. Eccentric yes, but, in the very least, you are the real deal."

"How can you be affirmative that I am not putting on an act all along? I could have done everything for publicity. I could be just another boring twerp who sees the need to demean everyone else in order to be noticed. Niceties don't work in this era, nastiness does. My words could have been carefully scripted by a skilled publicist. My appearance too. Everything. I could be the most manipulative person in the industry and no one could have known."

"I just know you aren't," Ichigo insisted.

"Why not?"

"It's like asking someone, 'Why do you love me?', don't you think so? Questions like this don't have answers laid out in black and white. There is no checklist to tick items off one by one and see if the end result is adequate and qualifies for whichever category it can be holed into. It's wholly subjective, and in my case, I stand by what I said."

"Why do you love me?" Ulquiorra repeated, as if weighing the words on his slim fingers.

"W-Wait—what?" Kurosaki Ichigo choked. He very nearly missed a turn, and threw his passenger a ferocious glare.

"Nothing."

"D-D-Don't," Ichigo cleared his throat with great effort, "I mean, don't say things like that without pre-empting me! I could have accidentally pressed the brake and have our lives hanging by a precarious edge! If that doesn't happen, a scratch might scar my beloved car, and that's when I'll make you pay for it."

"Violence and vindication courses through your veins," said Ulquiorra. "Though that alone has nothing to do with me, I profess it was rather refreshing to observe your interactions with your family. I certainly didn't foresee this grounded aspect of your loudmouth personality."

"Sounds to me you're beginning to be enamored with the simple life. Now that _astonishes_ me," Ichigo muttered. "Speaking of a family's warmth, now that sounds as slushy as a grown man yakking about how unfairly priced a hundred grams of cabbage is. Anyway the thing is, if you want to, you can, you know, umm," he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, "that is _if_ you want to, drop by sometimes."

All along Ulquiorra Schiffer was peeking at his co-star from the corner of his right eye. The latter was charm in its crowning glory: dashes of boyish allure setting in with a shake of devilish indifference. Unbeknownst to him, his brain was already working overtime to ingest images taken at shutter speed.

"Did you just issue me an impromptu invitation to visit your house as and when I could at the drop of a hat?" he asked.

"Err, no! No no no! You got it all wrong!" Ichigo sprung from his seat. "W-What I meant was my sisters seemed delighted to have you around. But I won't be fooled. They are obviously charmed by Sakana-chan—even a blind man can spot that from a mile away. You're just an additional sidekick for them to ogle at when their eyeballs become bored with life. Nothing more. Uh uh. That's the way it is."

"I am nothing more than my pet's human sidekick," Ulquiorra echoed brusquely. "I assume that when I stroll along the sidewalk, in reality, the cold painful reality, I am being led by a house cat on an invisible leash."

"You can always ask your local feline community." Ichigo pretended to check out for vehicles in the rear mirror. "Cats have all the answers, no doubt they speak in riddles. I assume they talk fish and yarn balls all the time. Especially those striped ones who can grin from mouth to mouth like a watermelon split."

"I do not believe in intuition, but you are a terrible speaker to begin with. Many times the state of your mind and oral muscle moves with a severe lack of co-ordination. Work on your eloquence too. There is progress but words continued to be haphazardly spliced and consolidated, a disastrous attempt at forming a sentence. In spite of your jarring flaws, my linguistic abilities are more than sufficient to outline the gist of what you say. A jumble no less, and I _might_ take you up on your invitation."

_Tick tock._

The clock commenced its mechanical movements again. The timer towards self-annihilation was rewound by a set of omnipresent hands. With every infinitesimal jerk of its second hand needle, a phantasmagorical hue took shape about his co-star. It was pink. Time expanded, then contracted. Seconds crossed into the minute mark. A vivid coloration surrounded the orange haired man, and slowly like tendrils winding themselves around a tree trunk, the hue crept into each and every of Ulquiorra's receptor devices. An attractive man his co-star certainly was, the pale actor thought.

_Beguiling, too._

"What's your beef with me again? I didn't say anything, and neither did you hear anything! Why should you come as and when you fancy? Who do you think you are? Some superstar whom everyone is clamoring to be in close proximity with? Even so I will never be as dumb to let you in. Ever heard of 'A Wolf At The Door'? It's by Radiohead, and you bet Thom Yorke's singing about the likes of you," Ichigo laughed nervously, his cheeks a brazen tinge of ruddiness. He laughed louder and louder, desperate to drown his embarrassment in a sea of forced decibels.

"That is me," Ulquiorra referred to the former remark. To the next he said, "That is a poor analogy."

"You twisted my words out of their context! As always! A total fatuous conclusion you've reached—who knows what's going on in that steel brain of yours? Probably some Twilight Zone crap."

Ulquiorra sunk deep into the gray passenger seat, the corners of his lips toying with withheld laughter and inner musings. "Because you are doused in feverish anticipation over what I am currently pondering, I will tell you this."

"Ooh," Ichigo chimed sarcastically, his face recovering from a bout of scarlet fever. "Can't hardly wait."

"It is not so much of a general statement or hypothesis, but rather, a question garnered from my observations over the past few months. You can say it is a study of my colleagues, you can also say it is a personal undertaking. Either way it is only a trick to pass the time, whose clockwork pace perplexes me not until recently."

"A question? Who is it for?"

"You."

"For _me_?"

Ulquiorra nodded.

"But I thought Spock here has everything figured out!" said Ichigo. Incidentally both Spock and Ulquiorra Schiffer were advocates of holistic uses of logic. "Spock's my childhood hero, and you ain't. That's one line you should never cross."

The older man shot him a side-eye. "You have a significant other—that woman with you on the red carpet during the charity ball. The one who stood up for you when you were decisively defeated by me at Kendo months ago. Can you recall that incident, or has the scoreline battered reality out of you?"

"W-Who..." Ichigo was smacked right in the face by a proverbial curve ball. It weighed some fifty pounds and did his jaws in. "You are referring to Ino-I mean, Orihime?"

" _That_ woman, yes."

"Oh her. Yeah, we've been together for, erm, quite a while."

"A while?"

"Since, hmm, when we both kick-started our careers."

"When you became an official adult?"

"When I became an official adult," Ichigo affirmed.

"In other words, your definition of 'a while' is two years."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Were there other women before her?"

"Hmm, there was one in high school. But we weren't exactly serious, so..." Ichigo shrugged, "after high school we simply broke it off. Or should I say, I wasn't too into her. Thought I was but my heart gave way to acting. We hardly kept in contact afterward, though I heard she's majoring in Chemistry in, I think, Keio. She's doing rather well too, I believe. Bet she made the honor roll year after year. She's the kind who's smart, diligent, kind of a dreamer, somewhat practical, image conscious, nice, and temperamental at times. The usual package a girl has."

"I see. So she was too normal for you?"

"I wouldn't say that. Maybe I didn't want to settle down that early. Maybe our personalities are a far cry from each other's. That would explain why I wasn't overly keen on keeping the relationship. She's outgoing, loves to hang out and shop around during the weekends. I prefer to stay at home and read. Strum the guitar a little, play some video games with my kid sisters. Whip up some dishes every now and then. All in all, pretty domestic stuffs," Ichigo chuckled in embarrassment. "Our only common interest lies in plays and musicals. We used to catch them together whenever possible. She hated the type of music I enjoy though. Complained it's too loud, or too weird. Either. Can't remember, but she had tons of complaints on that. I was always walking around with a set of huge Sennheiser headphones—hey don't laugh!" He spotted those brilliant emeralds crinkling in hidden gaiety.

"Having music in your ears makes you feel like you're permanently starring in a musical of your own," Ichigo continued. "Don't you think so? The playlist is practically the soundtrack to your life, there and then. Anyway she said I looked sort of dorky doing that. Which my 17 year old self thought was a pretty cute comment. Can you imagine a girl saying, 'You're such a dork!' and then bouncing off to your side, and loop her arm through yours?"

"It was an insult."

"Unlike you, not every soul on Earth has an agenda against me."

"I have no idea what you're saying. After her was that woman. In total, two. All of them women. Your first love was nothing more than a litter of puppies sunning themselves on the veranda."

Ichigo gurgled at his co-star's odd way of speech. "Yeah, I'm not too into relationships myself, but when the right person comes along, it just takes on a life of its own. Can't run, can't hide." He sat up straight in his seat and palmed down the front of his cable knit cardigan. "And the name's Orihime by the way. She's great. Terrible cook, but yeah, she's a real delight to have. Not to mention a total knockout."

"Yes, _that_ woman. In conclusion, those are her favorable attributes which have you in utter entrapment."

"What's your problem with _this woman_ and _that woman_? What about men? I've never once hear you refer to another man as _that man_ or a term akin to that. When it comes to members of your gender you call them by their names. Got to admit it's kind of hilarious coming from you. Are you a male chauvinist? Or an unintended equal opportunity hater? Trash to the world, maybe?"

"You are wrong. Some deserve that accolade, some don't."

"You called me that, often more than I'd obviously like, and like any self-respecting Homo Sapien with an awareness for human rights, I wish to make a case for it."

"Which is?"

Just as how Ulquiorra had forthrightly questioned him earlier, Ichigo decided to lay his cards on the table. "Am I still a lump of worthless garbage to you?"

Ulquiorra Schiffer contemplated the silence with lean fingers that a piano player would be proud of. "If I were to say yes, would that or would that not alter the dynamics of our concurrent working relationship?"

"As usual you speak in riddles," the orange haired man sighed in exasperation. "I'll drop that. For now. It's kind of pointless circling this area, but you poking your nose into my past and present relationships sure isn't, eh? I understand that we live in an unfair world, but sometimes I can't help but feel you elevate that disparity to a brand new level."

"You are rather..." Ulquiorra's steely jade gaze dimmed by several degrees, as if searching for a neutral phrase in a maze of alphabets. "There's more to you than it seems."

"Instead of being synonymous with trash, I've become the tip of a ginormous iceberg?"

"Of which discovery has to be made."

"C-ool."

"Ice is cold. A temperature of 8 to 14 degree Celsius can then be considered as 'cool'."

In the chilly light of the day, Ichigo managed to not bash his own head against the dashboard. He considered that an incredible feat. "Exactly when did you develop an interest in me, uh, I mean, my private affairs? It feels too sudden, like nothing good's ever going to come out of it. You know that feeling? Like seeing light streaming in at the end of a dark, winding tunnel, not knowing if the magical ray of light is natural sunlight or headlights reflected by an oncoming train."

The older man shook his head. "You misinterpret my words."

"Yeah, sure. Coming from the King of Denials I'd definitely buy it."

"Keep your eyes on the road," Ulquiorra sidetracked on purpose. "Stay inside your lane and turn left at the next intersection. Then turn right once you pass by the pedestrian crossing. You will see the entrance to the parking lot."

"Don't speak as if I've never driven to your place before," Ichigo said in a sing-song voice. "Been there, done that! One time too many!"

"It's a shortcut."

Ichigo shrugged and followed the instructions duly, his limbs moving like a manipulated puppet, his mind however, never ceased mapping matrices around their conversation. "Anyway, back to the topic," he began. "Don't tell me you're starting to take a liking to me? I'm in tears. What have I done to deserve your fondness? And of course you'll deny having asked me these questions when I am to broach the topic somewhere in the near future. This happens every time. I'm used to it. I really am. You waving me off like a little nobody—yeah," he gave another exaggerated shrug. "I'm _really_ used to it."

"You are a goon." Ulquiorra tickled the pads of Sakana's paws. "A headless gimp even."

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo didn't understand the course of action he was scheduled to perform and, in due time to come. He couldn't understand even if he tried, and try he might, nothing headed his way. For it was another bizarre encounter he met—he would file that away in a locker later; another bizarre outcome he had to reach. Somehow, it _just_ had to occur at the Schiffer residence. Fate didn't have anything in store for him other than that damned place. The Friday before, and now.

Mulling over the sheer bizarreness that was his life, he reviewed the events that led to what he was currently doing. They were usually innocent activities, such as going to the washroom to freshen himself up, whereas Ulquiorra promised they would do a four hour long dialogue session before calling it a day. Without a hitch, they rounded off with uncharacteristic activities on Ichigo's part, such as gazing at his co-star, asleep and curled up on a wooden settee, fully oblivious to his intended resolve.

Ichigo forgot how long he had done that for. To him time was an irrelevant concept, insubstantial even. Locked away in a penthouse suite, with curtains drawn and afternoon drowsy, the shadows of Friday night sneaked in through trains of maple leaf prints, and formed a silhouette on the ivory walls. In there where Ulquiorra lay, time seemed to move differently. Time became relative. It was as if the Bottega Veneta settee had chalked a boundary around itself, separating the world contained within from the world outside. The settee was the axis where time zones met and separated. Time couldn't be breached, much like how Ichigo couldn't bear to break down the barrier between him and the sleeping figure on the settee. It was tempting no less, the pink plumes sashaying about, teasing him to come forth with every strategic maneuver, and then point-blank refusing him entry.

So he looked on, just like how he was meant to. He looked on at the inside from where he was. White palms pressed against thin air, he looked on. He couldn't plough a path to evade the pink plumes and enter the world within. So he looked on at his co-star, who toed the invisible line between reality and dream-like fantasy. Remembering how Ulquiorra Schiffer appeared when he dozed off in the dressing room, Ichigo felt chills reverberating down his spine. It was eerie how nothing about the man changed.

Chin length hair the color of midnight pooled about his angular features, the strands fluttering lightly in the stale atmosphere. The hypnotic rhythm of his chest rising, then falling. The slim contour of his body. Lips set together firmly still, stacked above each other and left no gaps inbetween. Sooty eyelashes pursed against a sheet of snow. Expressions were wiped clean off the surface; not a single trace walked. Surely the man was in deep slumber. Pink plumes continued to maze around in mischief, sometimes blocking the view, other times allowing for a proper survey of the scene. So the younger actor looked on, just like how he was meant to in this dumbfounding turn of events.

How long has it been for exactly, Ichigo wondered again. Seconds maybe? Minutes? Hours even? No wait—that's batshit crazy!

He couldn't remember, because he didn't keep track. A violet watch may be strapped around his wrist, but he paid no heed to it. He didn't know when everything started too. The gradual aching of his feet signaled a possibility of lengthy periods, but he didn't care—he could be running an ultra marathon and no, he didn't care for that. Not for his feet, not for hands criss-crossing one another on the analog surface, not for grains of time slipping through his fingers.

Ichigo cared for neither of those.

He simply stood there, frozen into immobility, lost to the world. He never believed that observing people in their sleep was remotely fascinating, neither did he believe that it could just as easily send him reeling into a land where the air was so dense that entwined within the affected area, was a liquid sort of time. A locus where time slowed to a crawl. That was how he felt—yes _that_. That he was at a souvenir shop, face and finger pads squashed against a slate of polished glass, and a snow dome featuring a character reposing on a settee had him maddeningly enthralled.

This isn't the first time, Ichigo admitted to himself. I've been staring at him more often than appropriate. His effortless grace while dealing me blows in Kendo, his unsettling ease of slipping into character, the innocence emitting from him when he's sound asleep like this...of course he isn't like that, but, I can't—

He couldn't tear his eyes away from Ulquiorra.

Whimsical as pink plumes do, they came to fade, leaving behind wisps of cherry cotton. A lonely lining stretched across the ivory countenance, and when it evaporated, was a showcase of the man himself. A virtual closeup which left his younger co-star looking on, who in his stationary stance, ran defenseless against a slew of indelible ideas.

If I run my hand down his cheek, Ichigo pondered, would he stir in his sleep? If I come nearer and nearer, to the point where my lips hover above his, where his breath caresses my being, would he, at the touch of a kiss, ignite into life? Can I try? _Dare I try?_

Without further ado he brought a hand to Ulquiorra's waxen cheek, and leaned in further. He was ready to prove his unspoken theory. It was now a test of his bravado. His determination, unwavering. Time shifted from relativity to being a non-entity. Inch by inch, Ichigo slinked past the barrier, which melted away like cotton candy upon contact with liquid. The immaterial barrier encased his outstretched arm, then his head, followed by his upper torso. He was caught halfway between the world inside the snow dome and the world he grew up in. He was closing in on the enigmatic man, yet to the bystander (Sakana the cat), he never budged at all.

In place of inertness, an action had to take charge. Not from the active, but the passive. Ulquiorra let rip a sneeze at that juncture, and with it the barrier erupted like thunder, and crumbled down like a pile of falling rocks.

"Jeez, what a killjoy," Ichigo blurted, and moved quickly to erase any potential misunderstandings arising from his near exploits. He had been so close...so close to... _o_ _h man, what was I doing?_

Safe from a distance, he watched as his co-star shuddered slightly, before letting three more sneezes gush out of his windpipes. The latter then wrinkled his nose, as if preparing for a fifth sneeze. It didn't come, and he soon surrendered to a continued bout of blissful slumber. Ichigo thought of heading upstairs and grab a blanket for the sleeping man, but decided against it. He had no right to invade someone else's privacy.

"Didn't you say you need no jacket?" Ichigo unbuttoned his navy blue cardigan. It was warm from the retention of his body heat. "As usual you're all about denying the truth to death, you silly pale faced chump. And only you would reckon yourself a polar bear—wearing a thin cotton shirt on a cold day in autumn. What were you thinking? Winter's just around the corner and sheesh. Can't you ever learn to take care of yourself? Overgrown baby, and I'm definitely not going to play the role of a mother hen here." He slipped the cardigan off his shoulders and yanked it down his arms. "I'm not going to."

With steady hands he lay the cardigan over Ulquiorra's torso, smoothed the hem, and tucked him in like an infant.

 

* * *

 

The subsequent day came faster than Ichigo liked, and adding to his list of dislikes was him having to unlock the door himself. True that he had the keys. True that he had the owner's permission to enter should he fail to answer the door. True that he was beginning to feel at home in a place of harsh hospitality. However so, a trilogy of truths was not the equivalent of the wholesome, grand truth. Despite how he felt, Ulquiorra's house definitely was not his. He could not, and should not get too comfortable with a place he was bound to never step into again in a week's time.

"Strange, where could Ulquiorra be? He never fails to reprimand me for being late." Ichigo put down his rucksack and combed the length of his co-star's abode.

Nestling in a corner was Sakana the ginger cat, her eyes half-lidded and freely scanning Ichigo, whom she (incorrectly) perceived to be her owner's partner. One to stave away lonely nights of them depending on each other, with a mug of hot chocolate on the intrecciato coffee table, and the requisite item—a novel. Finally her owner had someone to spend his life with! As a ritual to welcome the handsome stranger into their shared space, she had left her scent on him. It was an initiation of acknowledgment, according to the puss.

"Hello there, Sakana-chan," Ichigo paused mid-walk to stroke the cat. "You feelin' alright?"

Sakana purred in delight, and twitched her fine whiskers in greeting.

"That's good. And, have you seen your owner anywhere? Is he out or something?"

The cat gave a few short, dismissive flips of her brown tail.

"No? Hmm. Bet he's still sleeping, that lazy bum. At least he bothered to transport himself from the settee and into his room. So," he addressed Sakana, "has that pallid bugger fed you breakfast and your medicine?"

She mewed again, hushedly, as if to say _'Yes'_.

Nevertheless Kurosaki Ichigo demonstrated startling inadequacy in the language of felines, and misunderstood Sakana in more meanings than one. " _No?_ What the hell. I'm going to knock on that large oak door of his and smash the alarm clock into his ear canals! Then I'm going to hurl him to his ass and toss him down the stairs as punishment. Give me a sec, OK?" He gave the cat a final pat of reassurance, before trooping upstairs to do as he promised.

Gungho as the fiery actor was, Ulquiorra was nowhere to be found. Not in his bedroom, not in the study, not in the spare room, and not in the storage room either. Only one room remained in contention now.

A snap of his ankles and Ichigo huffed down the narrow corridor. _Is this a game of hide-and-seek?_ When he rounded a corner like a revved up Harley Davidson he nearly slipped. It was then that he noticed something wet sloshing under his feet. _Water?_ Like a police dog adept at sniffing out narcotics, he pinpointed the watery trail and followed it all the way to its source—the bathroom.

Ichigo rapped his knuckles on the door impatiently, awaiting a hint of acknowledgment. A plain, dour echo arose within layers of rosewood, and that was it. No movements dying down, no flushing of the toilet bowl, no laughable singing in the showers, no dull voice demanding him to quieten down. The lack of distinguishable sounds worried him. For all he knew, Ulquiorra might have met with an accident in the bathroom which left him concussed and sprawled across the floor, with no one rushing to his aid. In the meanwhile the tap must had been left running, making the water level build up in the bathtub. The tub soon grew full and excess water seeped out. Ulquiorra lying unconsciously on the floor. The water overflowing from the tub. He could drown—he could...

"Oi! Are you OK? Don't make me freak out like this!" Ichigo called out, banging his fists rapidly on the door. "Oi! It's me! Open up! Oi!" An onslaught of pummels accompanied his shouts. "That's it! I'm barging in!"

Without warning he slammed his entire weight against the door. He could have twisted the brass knob and entered without using brute strength, but there was no room for repentance. Once in, he skidded a long and winding path to the bathtub, bypassing the sink, the rattan laundry basket, and along rows of color co-ordinated tiles. He didn't miss the scene of Ulquiorra lying on his back, luxuriating in the frothy bathtub. It's OK, Ichigo consoled himself, it's OK as long as I don't open my eyes—he squeezed both eyes shut—yes I'll keep them closed at all costs. And my legs—yes! It's OK as long as I stop before the tub. And after admonishing him for making me do stupid things, I'll leave, and nothing will happen!

Kurosaki Ichigo wished for obedience of his limbs, but bizarre things happened in the Schiffer residence. The winding skid was curtailed by an acrobatic flip over the edge of the squarish tub, and like a sweetcorn cob sailing through the air, he somersaulted into the bathtub. He crashed against an landscape of buttery skin. When mind and sight reconnected and came into focus, he reddened. It was so red that it seemed like he had polished off a tube of red paint. His cheeks, his ears, his body burned like a raging fire. There he was, kneeling between his co-star's legs, his back arched, his palms pressed not against air nor glass but cadaverous skin, dewy from moisture and shower cream.

Ulquiorra's eyes flew open.

"Hi!" Ichigo squawked. "Uh...nice..." he thrashed wildly about the tub, sending jets of water spraying onto the walls and already damp floor. "B-Bubbles! Yay, bub-b-bles! Great s-s-s-smelling fo—"

The pale man's lips parted by a tiny fraction, desperately wanting to berate his fate, but no words tumbled out. All he did was turn a beetroot shade. Very nearly did he break his neck by pivoting around frantically to grab something—a thing, anything, he could cover himself with. Be it a towel, a slipper, his boxers, a bar of soap, or a shower cap even. Never mind if it was transparent to begin with. He simply needed that _something!_ Twisting himself around he found nothing, but his own hands. The same set of hands which lounged by the side of the tub. _I must be dreaming. I must be. This is my dream, and I can wake up anytime I want. I have had a good dream, and I have to wake up for breakfast. I simply have to pinch myself and wake up. The time is now! I can..._

Yes he could—he could still, as a measure of self-preservation, protect his crown jewels from indecent exposure, irrespective of the fact that he was bathing and had his co-star walk in on him. "Why..." he asked to no one in particular.

"—am. Nice, h-huge, white b-b-bubbles," Ichigo palmed a dollop of shower foam and blew at them. "W-Wow...they r-r-really are err, err, w-white! They are just like snow! They've got to be! H-Heh, s-sno-o-w in Sep-p-p-te-mbe-er!"

Ulquiorra stared haplessly at the ongoing circus that was Kurosaki Ichigo. Blood clamored upstream to his head. Each time he tried to make sense of the ludicrous situation, the mindless rush of blood left him feeling giddy. He already was stark naked, with his legs spread apart comfortably, all of which were held in the solace of his own house. Then the impetuous carrot top had to disturb his peace, and to exacerbate the nightmare, he had to 'join' him in his bath. _This has to be a dream, and I have to wake up now!_

"Err..." Ichigo's knee came into contact with something soft and fleshy and unexplainable. "R-Rubber duck..ie?"

If death was an option, Ulquiorra Schiffer would choose it without hesitation. Dream or not, that be a gazillion times over, he morosely thought. _A gazillion times over._


	19. Perfect Situation

For an hour or so, Kurosaki Ichigo was keen to let his hand do the talking. He squatted in a corner of the living room, facing the veranda, and used a hair dryer on his damp clothes. Shivering from the cold after he climbed out of the tub, the clothes sticking like famished leeches to his skin, he was permitted to plunder Ulquiorra's wardrobe for a change of garb. He chose a loose fit gray tee and a pair of olive slacks to change into. It wasn't the first time he had worn his co-star's clothes, and what crept into his mind was effortless to deny but he didn't. Those clothes made him feel like a part of his co-star lingered on his skin.

His mouth may remain sealed, but his brain cranked up its associative abilities. When he thought of skin, the gutter track that was his cerebral processor published visuals on a slide show. Those damned visuals of an equally damned man and his damned bathtub which could house two people, albeit packed like sardines in a tin. Then there was _that_...that expanse of hoary, supple skin cruising beneath his fingertips, cool as autumn and velvety as pure silk. His eyes followed a trickle of water meandering from the pale neck to the chest, yes, _that_ very chest which heaved up and down so quietly like the flutter of a butterfly's wings when resting. The trickle continued to zigzag downward, making a temporary stop at his navel, swimming about the periphery before traveling further south to...

_Crap. What's going on? I must be mad!_ Ichigo shook his head vehemently. _I must purge these evil thoughts from my mind. Purge them!_ He wedged the hair dryer between bent knees and rubbed his temples. _I must. Purge them! I certainly must!_ His rubs transformed into light smacks on both sides of his head. Through a mental scroll of incantations he willed his tardy imagination away. _Purge! Purge! Purge! Pur—_

"You," Ulquiorra began. His low baritone penetrated the internal racket regurgitating itself inside Kurosaki Ichigo. "Did the chill go to your head? Or did it catch a cold because it was empty inside all along?"

"Jeez!" Ichigo nearly dropped the hair dryer on his left foot. "When the hell did you appear?"

"Since you began to slap at your head like a percussionist with a set of drums."

"It's none of your business!"

"If you say so." The beryl eyed man moved closer, and continued to cast his gaze downward at Ichigo. "In this case, I'd like to have my clothes back."

Kurosaki Ichigo wrapped one free arm around himself. "I need them! I mean, my clothes are wet, all thanks to you, a retard who snoozes in his bathtub with the tap running. Now your perverse demand is going to cause me great distress! No way am I stripping before you. Not a chance in hell." He scratched his head, suddenly remembering their intimate scenes with each other in the movie, then said, "Not least till Hiyori shouts 'Action!' and snap the goddamn clapper."

"But you have this," said Ulquiorra. A blue cable knit cardigan was in his grip. If one were to place him under a microscope and scrutinize him from head to toe, one definitely could see his fingers twitching in discomfort and uneasiness.

"Whose top is this?" Ichigo asked.

"Seems to me you already are suffering from dementia. 40 years too early perhaps?"

Ichigo frowned at the proffered article, the gears in his dysfunctional brain clicking together in belated recognition. "It's...mine."

"I washed it," said Ulquiorra, on the back of an awkward pause.

"Yeah, looks washed," Ichigo parroted. "Looks clean. Erm..." he inspected the condition of his clothes spread on the floor, then swung his gaze back to the blue cardigan. His cheeks threatened to glow at the thought of the noxious pink plumes fleeting about his co-star's peaceful sleeping face. "And...dry."

"Do you want your cardigan back or not?"

"Don't be stupid. Of course I want my stuff back."

"Then take it." Ulquiorra nudged the article towards his co-star, who never stopped gaping at the cardigan. They were like a prince and his hapless servant in a royal court. Ulquiorra the ineffably superior man, never lowering himself to his subordinate's level, handling an item with a pinch, as if he couldn't wait to be rid of it. Ichigo was the poor servant boy caught in a fix, not knowing if he should accept the item, and the repercussions of his action, whichever it was. "What happened to your ape-like reflexes? Lost them when you slapped away what little abilities you actually _do_ possess?" he added.

"Back off, pasty faced jerk! Can't you see I'm doing exactly that?" Ichigo chuffed as he reached for the cardigan. He envisaged sinking his fingers into soft wool, but all he felt was the cool touch of Ulquiorra's hand.

At once both men shared an unspoken communication through telepathy, the point of contact being their fingertips. Electricity sizzled and sparked through their veins, flicking on many switches along the way. The voltage increased until their bodies could no longer take it. They had to pull away before it was too late. _Now!_ With a start they withdrew their hands. The cardigan fell to the ground. When they reached for the clothing, misfortune again had to crop up.

Their heads clattered together, not of a heavy _thud_ but just enough to have them lurch backward then forward, their faces inevitably within a fraction of a breath from each other. They were millimeters away from smooching each other and they knew that. Eyes stretched and widened to the limits, they snapped away from each other like rubber bands on the rebound.

"Why are your peepers so damn large?" Ichigo half-yelled as he rose from his squatting position. "They already are freaking enormous for starters, so don't widen them any more!"

Ulquiorra could feel flames being fanned mercilessly under his feet. "I was born with them."

"Then why is your face so red?" Ichigo further accused. "Did you sneak a sip of the sweet nectar when I wasn't looking? How could you? Aren't we supposed to be all professional and preparing for our roles? In less than 10 days' time the cameras would be up and rolling again! I'm not going to be replaced by anyone, you hear me? We have to work really hard. I repeat: really, really hard."

"Your countenance couldn't have been a better reflection of your outspoken mannerisms."

Out of guilt the carrot top's hands instantly shot up to his face. "Where? What? Stop talking out of your ass!"

"Obviously you weren't the one who was appropriately attired for bathing in a tub," Ulquiorra shot back. He was too caught up in the heat beneath his feet to notice how his pitch and volume had altered midway. No longer the placid tones of old, they were now terse and incensed, like a box of dynamites ready to detonate anytime.

"So what if I saw you in your birthday suit? Let's face it. You were in the bathtub. I just _happened_ to be there. We're both guys. What you have, I have. The anatomy is what it is, physical deformities aside. A man has what a man rightfully has. The variations though, say, the size, the length, that sort of thing I bet you wouldn't want me to go into details, will without a doubt, exist. Surely! No two men are built the same, likewise no two men can be any different. I've said my piece. Now, what's your problem?" Ichigo argued. He was right off the bat, but given a speckle of hindsight, those were words he could have avoided uttering.

"I do not dispute what you've just said. But..." the pale actor trailed off.

"But what? I didn't do anything else! OK fine. I touched your chest, so what? Sooner or later I'd have to touch you here and there, but that's for another day."

"That is not the issue here."

"What is?"

Ulquiorra shook his head curtly. "Never mind."

"Whatever, man!" Ichigo threw his hands up in exasperation. Mysterious waves of heat surged within his insides and he didn't like the sensation. _Not one bit!_ He had to suppress it or else it could get out of hand. "Simply put, are you upset that I squashed the rubber duckie floating around in your bathtub? Grow up, seriously."

"Rubber duckie..." Ulquiorra Schiffer repeated, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Did you just say 'rubber duckie'...?"

"If I damaged your bathing toy, I'm sorry, alright? How much does one cost? I will..." Ichigo was chockablock with scarlet embarrassment. He knew he was babbling nonsense, but he couldn't stop. If he did those heatwaves could very well throw him under. "I will pay!"

Ulquiorra's pitch scaled yet another peak. " _Pay_?"

"Yeah, how much does your idiotic _duckie_ cost? 100 yen? Or more because everything here is just so frigging expensive?"

Again Ulquiorra didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his co-star's idiocy. How anyone could be so daft and obtuse was beyond him. Such seasoned idiocy was admirable in its own right too; no way was it obtainable in a day's work. "Do you really think what your knee pressed against was a rubber duckie? That _it_ is something purchasable by money?"

Ichigo nodded with as much conviction as he could muster. "Definitely. It has all the attributes of a goddamn yellow skinned, beady eyed, red mouthed rubber duckie."

"Your kind is so rare that it is classified as an endangered species. Perhaps it'd be for the good of mankind if we were to leave things be and allow evolution to govern its course. Perhaps extinction would be a lovely result," said Ulquiorra. He took time to compose himself considerably, before enunciating his words with the final shred of his dignity. "For your information, Kurosaki Ichigo. There was no so-called 'rubber duckie' in the bathtub. The rest is up to your imagination. You know there only can be two options, and now one is out. What's left is anyone's guess."

With a flourish he swept upstairs and into his room, leaving the carrot top to mouth "Holy mother of purity!" again and again like a broken loop, wide eyed as an owl and stranded in a circle of dancing flames. They were high as a hedge and hot enough to make him burn all over.

 

* * *

 

"Tch. What a bunch of pussies," Grimmjow Jeagerjacques sneered at the TV screen. Friday nights had him drunk in debauchery, and this night was no exception. As usual he was at his favorite pub, cussing at footballers from the comfort of his round top seat and cool metal counter. It was some local league match currently airing, but both sides were equally profligate before goal. "Can't get this in, can't get that in. Why the fuck do you shitheads earn so much for? Bet you lot can't even score at a brothel if you paid a king's ransom. Know what?" he questioned the bartender before him. "A fucking travesty, that's what!"

The bartender bobbed his head of neatly parted hair, careful not to make any unnecessary comments. He wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of this intimidating customer who hurled vulgarities needlessly every other word. He had a job—he needed the cash, but he had a life to live too. He just turned 25 this fall, and he wished to visit Germany next month.

Grimmjow gulped down his beer at a frightening rate, then slammed the empty mug on the counter and demanded for a refill. "More of the same, OK?" he growled. The bartender nodded again and mutely pushed two mugs of Erdinger towards the well-built blue haired man.

A tall, tattooed redhead slid up next to him and eased onto the round red seat. "Two pints this early?" He noted four empty glasses on the counter. "Whoa. That's a grand total of six. It ain't even midnight yet. We have the entire dusk ahead of us, pal."

"What the fuck took you _this_ long?" Grimmjow pivoted around to glower at his newly arrived companion. A vessel popped on his forehead. "This crap on TV is making me shit bricks anytime, y'know?"

"Didn't I mention I'd be late?"

"No?"

"Check your cellphone, duh."

"Whatever the fuck," Grimmjow waved him away. "Now that you're here, who cares."

Abarai Renji knocked twice on the counter and ordered three bottles of Kilkenny. The weather of late had been strange, he thought. Sometimes blood-chillingly cold to the extent where he could almost feel the frost in his bones. Sometimes, like today, it was inexplicably hot. Maybe the doomsday prophets were correct—that the end was nigh. Not that he cared. It could even come tomorrow. All he needed was to down his gut with some iced beer, sit back and relax, watch some football, let out some steam by cursing a bit, and play catch up with his latest buddy.

"So," he watched as the bartender cranked open bottle after bottle of Kilkenny, then continued, "Who's playing who now? The score? Anyone banging in goals?"

"Pussies versus bigger pussies who can't even lay a whore," Grimmjow snapped, sapphire eyes languishing in boredom. "Fucking waste of time."

"Really? Then what else can you be possibly doing at this hour?"

"Dunno. Probably go bother that fanny boy and his kitty at home."

Renji took a swig from his beer bottle, and licked his lips in appreciation. The beer was dry and reeked of a metallic aftertaste that not many liked. A few of his drinking buddies claimed it tasted of paint, but everyone had their own preferences. If everyone in the world were to go for an identical product, then there would be no benefits of differentiation. So, Renji concluded, there was no shame if he enjoyed his draught beer.

"Fanny boy?" he asked.

"Cousin _dearest_ , that's who."

"Ulquiorra Schiffer, eh?" The redhead gave a sheepish smile. "In what way is he a fanny boy?"

"Tch. His appearance, fuck it. Can you find anyone in the entire Japanese entertainment industry who looks more like a girl than he does? He can never be cast in those macho men shows. Y'know, those action movies, the Schwarzenegger and The Rock shit. Maybe I ought to go audition for them sometime. Better than sitting around doing fuck all. Those half-assed modeling gigs and management fees ain't doing me right by those whatever you call them, huh, whatever financial jargon those nannies in tailored Armani suits spin out. Fuck me if I were them."

"Right. Accounting books, you mean?" Abarai Renji suggested. "Come on, about the fees issue. You definitely earn much more than me, you greedy knob. Popular as Ichigo is, he isn't anywhere near Ulquiorra's price tag."

"Ask that pansy dude to man up and learn how to spar if he wants to match up to that boring bastard. Fucking brainless, that. That fanny boy who slaps on make up sure looks like a girl, but goddamn it, he fights like a warrior. Who the fuck could have known? Eyeliner and fists don't exactly correlate! Right?" Grimmjow stared straight at the bartender, the sudden rise in pitch demanding a response of any sort.

The bartender nodded. "Right."

"Good one, bro. You see my point," the blue haired man grinned triumphantly. "Talk about a shit version of the Bermuda Triangle mystery. Your boy with the tutti fruity name gotta wake up and smell the coffee. Totally simple shit, though. Get him to grow some fucking balls. Beating that fanny boy should come naturally. Need no twitch of the ass. It's one plus one, basically. Right?"

The bartender found himself nodding again. "Right."

Renji shot the bartender a sympathetic glance, but it didn't last for long. "Back to Ulquiorra. He does have a very pretty face with those penetrating emerald eyes, on top of his aloof personality. It gives him soul yet tells of an emptiness within. The perfect example of the modern hollow man as perpetuated in the movies he stars in. That mysterious allure which can never be detrimental to a movie star. The more silent charisma you exude the greater your fan base. The more you hide yourself, the more people want to learn about you. Because we are all curious beings. Whatever piques their interest and if they can't unearth it immediately, they will chase after it. Before long they end up obsessed with the chase. Their failure to attain the object of their desire leads them to place whatever it is on a pedestal. Simply because they can't have it, or whichever values their desire embodies."

"...the fuck. You did film theory or whatever the artsy-fartsy shit back in school?"

"I read, dude."

Grimmjow looked at Renji as though he just revealed that he was a woman.

"It was Kilkenny talking," Renji hastily backtracked.

Both men turned their gazes to the TV screen and watched the ongoing match in rapid interest, occasionally leaking out vulgarities and wishing bodily harm upon anyone on the football pitch incapable of playing the game. For an extended period the scoreline remained at 0-0, until a player decided to strap on his shooting boots and lashed a curling shot into the top right hand corner of the goal. Cheers and jeers and mugs clattering against each other rang throughout the pub. Nobody could discern which of the three was loudest.

Abarai Renji rose his bottle to his pal, who seemed too far away to notice his gesture. "At last a goal!" he grinned wolfishly. "Scrappy, but I'll take that. What do you say?"

"Are you interested in him?" Grimmjow suddenly asked.

Renji reached for another handful of peanuts. "Who?"

"You carrying a torch for fanny boy?"

"Are you nuts?" the redhead sputtered. "I'm an admirer of his talent and nothing more." He shook the contents of his bottle and looked into the opening, brandy orbs glazed over as if he was deep in thought. "Even if I was, there _definitely_ is someone who yaks about him more than I do. In fact, now that I think of it, even more than any self-professed 'batboy' would! Practically to the brink of obsession, I must confess."

"Doesn't surprise me. There's a shitload of motherfuckers who wanna get into his pants at any chance. It's kinda my duty to fend them off. They might be scarred for life if they fucking get within a yard of him." Grimmjow grabbed a fistful of crackers and stuffed them into his mouth. The crackers crunched under his canines noisily. He washed the remnants down with beer and spoke again.

"This job gives me some fucking legit excuse to get some sorry ass as a punching bag. On some good nights," he flashed a devilish grin, "they come in truckloads. You see those nosy fuckers on their feet now, seconds later, no, a split second later, they are groaning and bawling their hearts and eyes out by the sidewalk! Their shit ass babies—those digital SLR cameras, crushed to fucking shards beside them. Me against them." He smacked his lips and cracked his knuckles, relishing the fist fights, street style wise. "I _love_ it. Fucking _love_ it."

"Were you ever arrested?"

Grimmjow flashed his friend a victorious smirk. "I move with the agility of a fucking panther, mate. Those bastards never knew what hit them."

Renji chortled and gobbled down a handful of peanuts with gusto. "No wonder the paparazzi leaves him alone," he said inbetween munches. "Ulquiorra is hardly photographed outside, isn't he?"

"Told you he's a boring bastard. The only places he goes to are the movie set and his goddamn palace of a house. It's too good for someone like him. Too fucking big."

"Even when he ain't filming, like these few weeks?"

"How the fuck would _I_ know? I haven't the mood to see his shit face lately. The trip to London was such a wicked smash that I honestly thought of living there for good. The number of shit faces there is staggering, and there are a couple more I'd fucking love to sink my fist into. And regarding that sickening twat, my guess is that he's comatose at home right now."

"You look like you're lying," said Renji, earnestly.

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at him. "What about that useless boy who can't even throw a half-arsed punch out of a paper bag? What's he doing? Isn't he on the verge of getting the royal fuck out?"

"No idea too. He hasn't really been replying to my messages."

"You shitting me?"

Abarai Renji took a moment from chugging down his beer to paste a solemn expression on his lightly tanned mien. "I swear upon my honest-to-good tattoos that I absolutely am clueless about the whereabouts of Kurosaki Ichigo for the past two weeks."

"Same goes for cousin _dearest,_ " Grimmjow sniped. "Fuck dictates where he is, home or not."

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know what he has been up to?"

"Fuck off," the blue haired man snapped. "Like I honestly give two shits about that boring loser when I'm busy chillin' with my best mates Johnnie Walker and Jim Beam."

"Quit hiding behind that tough guy demeanor. You care, don't you?" Renji grinned widely as his friend's glower notched up several levels. "Though, I have to say, it's kinda suspicious now that we put one and one together."

As much as he hated to admit it, Grimmjow Jeagerjacques shared the exact same thoughts. "You saying...?"

"Ichigo's been missing for a while. Not literally 'missing' missing, but the 'no news' kind of missing. Haven't heard from him since filming ceased temporarily. I suggested he approach Ulquiorra for some help once. Could he be...? Could he really be? Hmm. Nah, can't be that," the redhead shook his head. "Not possible. No."

"Two idiots 'disappearing' for two weeks is quite some serious shit. Did karma strike them down or something? That would be a fucking laugh, like getting hit in the balls."

"Coincidence. Just a good old coincidence," Renji quickly affirmed. "The other possibility is way too absurd. Can you imagine that? Ichigo and Ulquiorra alone in some...place? What can they do?" He recalled the last time he saw them together. "Ah shit, no. Just erase whatever I've said. All of them. Kilkenny's making me cranky and speculative. Ichigo's probably vacationing in some remote part of Asia now, and Ulquiorra, maybe he entered some retreat in the mountains to hope and pray for the best. It's beyond belief that they can hold out this long in a shared space. An hour alone has already proved to pose some real shitty damage to my imagination, what more two weeks!"

For once Grimmjow was agreeable. "The thought of it drives fucking _anvils_ into my head."

 

* * *

 

Back in Ulquiorra Schiffer's abode, the tension between the two men remained palpable, though nowhere near the scorched intensity of the afternoon. What they did to occupy themselves with was pretty much a no-brainer. Went through the script, addressed the areas needed for improvement, held some irrelevant debate—given a choice of vegetable to take along with you to some deserted island, which would you choose and why?—and defended their responses with laughable dedication. Discussed about the types of cats in existence and strays being put to sleep when caught stalking the streets. Shared their favorite type of movies. Gave their opinions on recent releases and what should be binned altogether. Regarding that, Ulquiorra had plenty of comments to dish out.

"The theaters should be showing nothing now," he stated monotonously.

From midday to dusk, there were only words, and nothing else but words. No actions involved. All that followed was some much needed peace in the house, a lingering stretch of time where they could calm themselves down, and allowed for the queasiness dwelling in the pits of their stomachs to dissolve in a pool of amino acids.

A little after nine, Ichigo took it upon himself to cook up a miniature storm in his co-star's kitchen. Rolling up the sleeves of his now dry flannel shirt, he grabbed some packets of frozen seafood, a sprig of paisley and lettuce from the fridge. He set the water to boil, put on a purple apron (Mrs Schiffer left it there), whistled along to Queen's Somebody To Love while pouring macaroni into a sieve and washed them thoroughly. Next was the seafood, which he left to thaw in a microwave for five minutes. Once that was done, he put these ingredients in the saucepan, added a cube of soup base and stirred the mixture for a while.

He liked hanging out in the kitchen like this, free to do whatever he wanted and luxuriate in pockets of space and time, whipping up dishes at his own leisure. Be it conjuring a meal fit for the royals or plain peasantry fare, he was up for it. He proved to be relatively adept at Japanese and certain Western cuisines, improvising when it was required. Since young, Ichigo had found comfort in this lesser known hobby of his. It made him feel closer to his mother, whom he used to watch bustling about the kitchen and creating a flurry of scrumptious dishes. If he could recreate the taste of her food, he could replicate those nostalgic feelings when savoring them.

"We're having seafood macaroni tonight," he announced cheerily. "Whether you like it or not the food's already cooked."

"Why are you still here?" the green eyed actor asked, a finger resting on his temple.

"I deserve to have my fill before leaving! Thank whichever god you're worshiping because I happened to cook your share as well," Ichigo declared, chopsticks ever ready to attack the meal with fervor. "Enough of explaining to you—I'm famished enough as it is. That's it. I'm tucking in!"

Ulquiorra gave the contents in his porcelain bowl a quick once over. Satisfied with what he saw, he pulled a chair out, picked up a pair of chopsticks, and dug in like a happy connoisseur.

 

* * *

 

Abarai Renji finally found a fellow hell raiser in the form of Grimmjow Jeagerjacques.

When it came to liquor he definitely could hold his own, even triumphing over his regular drinking mates. It was always them; a ragtag group of friends passing out from the same high school and coming together to toast their glasses as and when they liked. It was their mutual motto to be on the ball at all times. No matter the make, no matter the hours they drank at, no matter the location, those were mere pebbles on their gravel path to life. He often boasted he could just as easily win a drinking competition if there ever was one. To his dismay, he found none in the district.

When he reached the pub he had no intention to drink up a hefty bill. His credit cards were getting maxed out and he didn't know why. He was pretty certain he kept his spending within limits, but he was sometimes prone to the occasional shopaholic binge. Or an unwarranted subscription of tattoo and sunglasses magazines. It could also be the brand new Oliver Peoples shades with silver frames and blood red lenses, perched atop his head.

Reflected in the lenses was the hunk of a man who could out drink him under the table any given time. Renji almost felt proud he had uncovered such a person. They were acquainted on an accidental basis, and first impressions determined the start of their friendship. After six pints and several bottles of beer each, their livers hardened, they stood upright on their feet, proud conquerors of the pub, and strode out into the darkening night. Their minds were clear and their adrenaline were set pumping by alcohol. They felt the innate need to dance up a frenzy and gulp down gallons more to repatriate their beliefs in the God of Hedonism.

"Where shall we hit next?" Renji asked. "Bar 21 or Velvet Cave?"

"Bar 21's full of young punks and puny skull heads. A fucking disgrace if we were to be seen in the company of these whoevers."

"Velvet Cave, then? Voted one of the best watering holes of 2009. Cool crowd, thumping music, awesome strobe lights. Hear DJ Ikky's spinning tonight. Drinks ain't too bad too. Their Bombay Sapphire lined with Hoegaarden white beer is kinda unique, but absolutely top, top stuff." Abarai Renji checked his watch. "30 minutes to ten, so the Happy Hour promotion's still on. Plus it's Friday. That Friday of 'Thank God It's Friday'!"

"Aka the obligatory Friday 'Retro Petrol' nights? Fuck _please_." The azure eyed man retched at the thought of grooving along to pop hits from yesteryear.

"Nothing short of fun, unless you're being picky. If so, _please_ come up with some sensible suggestions of your own."

Grimmjow frowned hard at his redhead companion. "If you weren't my pal I'd have smashed your head against the sidewalk."

"Smashed like a broken beer bottle against a slab of granite?" Renji grinned a grin so wide that his canines were exposed. "You know you don't scare me at all."

"Go to hell," the blue haired man fumed. "The night's on you, if you reckon yourself having gotten the better of me."

Renji shrugged. "Anything."

In pursuit of pure debauchery, his depleting finances were the last thing on his mind.

 

* * *

 

At 9.58p.m., they ignored the stares and winding queue outside Velvet Cave, and casually strolled into the hip club. A remixed version of Status Quo's We Built This City greeted them. Like self-styled kings of the streets they swaggered through a parting sea of avid party-goers on the dance floor, picked an empty corner and made it their own.

Flashing strobe lights of white and blue and neon shades zipped hectically across the club. On the decks was a DJ clad in typical hip-hop garb. Oversized shades, baggy LA Lakers jersey and a matching white Adidas tracksuit. Progressive electronic mash-ups with hit tunes from the 70s and 80s were spun. The songs picked were crowd pleasers and the revelers made known their delight by cheering and applauding the DJ whenever the refrains of a hit came on. Surrounding the decks were four elevated platforms. Three were occupied by regulars of the club. They knew each and every move and never once did a misstep. Their Para Para styled actions were faithfully mimicked by the mob below them.

After a round of drinks both men were ready to hit the dance floor. They moved and shook in imperfect synchronization with the crowd, jumping ecstatically and admired girls popping their booties in heels and short dresses and tight skirts. The guys pumped their fists and some added nifty footwork to the cult-like dancing. Sass was the order of the night. David Bowie's Let's Dance received the most rapturous reception so far. The atmosphere sizzled as the night went by and more people got into the collective act of tossing their arms up in the air and swaying their hips as though their lives depended on it. Each ebb and flow of the beats pulsated through their bodies and tonight they paid pilgrimage to the music. The club enjoyed full attendance every Friday night. Every inch of the floor was covered and sweaty bodies mingled together in a mixture of booze, elation and desperation to let loose cooped up emotions.

"Holy shit! My god! It's The Weather Girls! My favorite tune!" Renji shouted above the noise. "I gotta get out there and bust some moves! I don't give a damn if I break a hip! Don't stop me now!"

"Don't know what the fuck you're yapping about!" Grimmjow yelled back. "Can't hear you!"

"It's 'It's Raining Men'!" the redhead exclaimed as he lightly elbowed his way through to the sole empty platform. "I'm leaving those umbrellas at home! Hell yeah!" With an athletic leap he got onto the squarish, white stage and joined in the dance without delay. It looked fun, and the blissful expression written all over his face spelt out everything.

_Shit!_ Grimmjow thought. _I want in too!_

 

* * *

 

After dinner Ichigo again insisted he should be the one doing the dishes and downplayed his co-star's importance in domestic control of his house. Ulquiorra didn't argue back this time. He remembered what happened the last time they fought over dominance of washing dishes, and the slash across his palm was healing fast. He needed to have a complete recovery before filming commenced. Flipping the calendar hanging by the kitchen window, he realized that day was nearing. Nine more days. It came much faster than he had thought, and whoever guessed that having the carrot top as company could make the concept of time irrelevant.

 

* * *

 

After two hours of non-stop dancing Renji and Grimmjow jumped off the platform and toasted to life. A round at the start didn't do right by their principles, so they ordered six more. Bottles after bottles of Erdinger, some of Grimmjow's self-confessed best mates—Johnnie Walker and Jim Beam, and a few shots of tequila were all they chugged down their gullets. Initially their conversations centered on proper topics such as football, the latest styles to adopt, Sex Pistols, the evolution of punk, and the definition of a hot chick. Slowly they delved into conspiracy theories, exchanged paranormal encounters which none of them had actually chanced upon, and the link between shoe sizes and alien abductions.

"Oi," Grimmjow slurred, his eyes glinting in intoxicated mirth. "Know what I do when I get all motherfuckin' high?"

Abarai Renji slouched on the couch and grinned stupidly at the ceiling. "Hit on some chicks?"

"Nah," Grimmjow wagged a finger. "Too fucking cheap."

"Hit on some dudes?"

The azure eyed man threw a drunken glance at him. "Like the f-u-c-k you know."

"Punch them in the guts?"

"Right..." the blue haired man continued to slur. "Maybe..."

"Maybe? What? Then what?" Renji's voice rang in annoyance. "Quit turning me 'round and 'round in circles. 'Cause I'm effing dizzy now. Hold on." He noticed the ceiling freely rotating on an invisible fulcrum. "Is it me or is the room spinning like a bloody top? When did it start to? My god! Are we in an UFO?"

"Why are you twirling around in an idiotic man tutu?" Grimmjow pointed at the redhead and laughed noisily, then took a huge swig of his butterscotch whiskey. "Another fucking loser on the house, y'all!" he laughed again.

"Like the f-u-c-k you know," Renji parroted his friend's words from earlier.

"I _really_ do fucking know. My brain has the capacity of a fucking galaxy!" Grimmjow yelled into his mug. "My loser of a mate, you may not know this—"

"Move away!" the redhead called out suddenly. He raised both arms in the air and swung back and forth. "We are spinning around, and we can't stop it! The aliens are alive!"

"—but I do." Grimmjow ignored him and let his yell drop to a conspiratorial whisper. "Here's my piss take on our current predicament. I _know_ we are in a teacup rotating on a fucking axis of the universe and behind this shoddy teacup lies a wall of complete darkness. The one million bucks question is: which fucking idiot brought us here?"

"Monsters under your bed!" said Renji, and he burst into a fit of hiccups and giggles. As if on cue, Spagna's Call Me blared from high quality speakers located in every nook and cranny of the club. "X-Files! Ring up Mulder and Scully, will ya?"

"Nah," Grimmjow crawled into the couch and rested against his friend. "Those fucking Martians caused the show to end. Way before I managed to get their numbers! The fuck with the world. The talk of it riles me up like an accelerator with no brakes, you filthy trash bags!"

"Call for help! You think Jack Bauer can reach us under 24 hours?"

"Don't be a fuckwit. I may deal you a spade to the face but I won't leave you to die here," said Grimmjow. He snuck an arm around the redhead's waist and snuggled up to him.

With his free hand he dug around for his cellphone, fumbled with the cover and nearly dropped it several times. It was never painless a task to flip open a phone when in an inebriated stupor. Twice his thumb was caught in the metallic hinge and thrice he yelped in pain. The third was a figment of his imagination. Finally he scrambled the lid open and pressed some digits on the pad. He wasn't too sure what he had entered, the hell with it, but it definitely had to be the same number—his favorite number.

 

* * *

 

Over at the Schiffer residence a picture of meditative calm reigned.

The television was on and a documentary featuring rodents was showing, but neither man expressed interest in the program. Instead they were intrigued by Sakana's display of irateness towards colonies of mice scampering from underground sewers and thronged by the side. The ginger cat snarled and flashed her fangs at the television screen menacingly, her striped tail suspended in the air. Seeing the mice weren't afraid, she went the extra mile by licking the pads of her paws, then revealed tiny but sharp claws.

"Does she always do this?" Ichigo turned to Ulquiorra and rested his gaze on him. The older man sat in an upright position even when watching television. His feet were more relaxed though. They rested against the brass casings which capped off each leg of the intrecciato coffee table.

"Let her be. I'm glad she doesn't attack my laptop though."

"It's only National Geographic," Ichigo laughed. "Poor Sakana-chan. She needs to be less agitated." He picked the ginger kitty up and held her against his chest. She was warm and cuddly, her short fur tickling his neck and made the carrot top so cozy on the Bottega Veneta couch that he cooed into the cat's ear. "Sick creatures should rest early, and especially you. When you recover, you can always come visit me. You already know where I live. Ditch your sad looking owner and seek your own happiness, Sakana-chan! I swear he passes the blues around like a salt-and-pepper shaker at dinner."

"She will not leave me," Ulquiorra protested, briefly turning in their direction. "Get your own pet. Get one that matches the new depths your idiocy ploughs."

"Oh yeah? Sakana-chan obviously is fonder of me nowadays. See how her lips curl into a cute smile when I hold her!"

"Cats do not have lips."

It was then the phone rang. The green eyed actor walked over to the oak side table near the kitchen and answered it. "Yes?" was Ulquiorra's nonchalant greeting, or rather—according to Ichigo—a formal lack of greeting.

A mouthful of indecipherable warbles pounced on his hearing from the other end of the line.

"Speak audibly," he commanded.

"Bats!" the voice, mired in a bewildering mix of hysteria and drunkenness and heavy drums and bass beats, screeched. "Fruits!"

"...I know it's you."

"Fuck yeah, smarty pants! I'm fucking exalted and I called to report the time, Mister!" Grimmjow Jeagerjacques blabbered. "What time is it?"

"It's party time!" a second voice chimed in unabated joy. A different one from the first. Ulquiorra deduced it had to be one of his foolish cousin's trouble making 'friends'. A bunch of 'hell yeahs' and 'alright' filled the background.

"What do you want?" asked the actor, exasperated.

"Save us! We're stranded in a spinning teacup!" the unknown voice cried. "The ground's sinking into a gigantic black hole! A blue haired alien said he has the cognitive abilities of a galaxy!"

"Yeah—ha," Grimmjow continued, "we are blinded and it's so fucking dark now. Those freak shows from another dimension abducted us because we pointed and laughed at their goddamn mindbogglingly large heads! Now we're gonna get tortured like meat on a fucking skewer! Tea fucking cup rides forever and eve—"

Ulquiorra hung up the phone.

"Who's that? Sounds drunk beyond belief." Ichigo suppressed a budding giggle.

"An useless tool and his failing sensibility who claimed they were kidnapped by aliens and made to take countless rides in a revolving _teacup,"_ Ulquiorra stated dryly. "The entire situation takes place in a land of black holes and galaxies."

"You serious?" the carrot top sniggered at the sheer ridiculousness of it. "It takes some epic imagination to spew crap of that degree."

"Deadly," Ulquiorra nodded. "That said, I believe I've heard worse. In any case I have to step out of the house for a while. Lock the door when you leave."

Kurosaki Ichigo lay a protective hand over the ginger cat. "Where to?"

"A place which I have no business being at time and again."

"I'm coming along."

"It is getting late, and you should get going."

"But I'm coming along!" Ichigo's lips pursed together in an obstinate line.

Ulquiorra knew the younger man was never easy to shake off, but he couldn't help but feel a tinge of...dare he say—a branch, or a possibility of happiness, at his persistence. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I want to!" Ichigo blurted, to both their surprise. "I mean, your car's still in the garage and there aren't too many cabs at this hour. My tank's full so I can afford to waste a few miles. Anyway that's what a car is for, right? To drive people around in the name of convenience. You sound like you're in a hurry too, and my Impreza's got a lot of of pickup. One shift of the gears and you can effortlessly go up to 90 or even 100. The speed isn't a problem, and I daresay I'm a much better driver than most cabbies you will encounter in Tokyo. You should know, since I drove you home once. Adding to that you're heading to a club. You can always use an extra pair of hands in dealing with those drunk cads. They are not the most well-behaving people on Earth when under the influence of alcohol. I have to admit that, because I experienced it before." He flashed an abnormally shy glance at Ulquiorra after his lengthy explanation. "Besides, from what I picked up, I suppose that drunk dolt is at a club where retro songs are spun on Friday nights. Not many places do that, so I roughly know where that is. I have a friend—Renji, who frequents that place. It's a safer bet to ride along with someone who knows where's the fun at, yes?"

The raven haired actor nodded, then hastily looked away. For the second time of the day, he felt his cheeks on fire and no teeming rain could extinguish the flames.

 

* * *

 

Given their celebrity status, they had to maintain a low profile when stepping out of their houses. Ulquiorra threw on his favored white duckbill cap and pulled it low over his face. He wrapped a green scarf around his neck and pulled it upwards to cover his mouth. Ichigo used a beige ski cap to hide the instant recognition his orange hair brought, and put on a pair of coke colored glasses.

Granted Ulquiorra Schiffer was no happy man when he hopped onto Ichigo's Impreza, but he had no choice. He felt a sense of obligation to his cousin, despite his keenly documented dislike of him. Deep down they were like blood brothers and no one except them understood the intricacies of a mutual love-hate familial relationship. Both had no siblings; they were the only child, and grew up together. They fought and ignored each other, helped each other out while proclaiming they didn't care. There was something about Grimmjow which ticked him off yet amused him simultaneously. Was that how he was beginning to feel about his co-star? A similar emotion brought on by a solitary dwelling? That of brotherly feelings? Or was that something else altogether? Something which he wasn't able to lay claim to?

They drove into the twilight streets and with a smooth switch of gears, the silver Impreza changed lanes, slotting in behind cars and then bypassing them with fluidity. The vehicles on Friday nights were a far cry from their daytime counterparts. Each was raring to go and charge down the red lights with their engines revved up and installed with special kits. After a while they pulled into a driveway and stopped right in front of Velvet Cave. A valet was in the waiting and after handing him the keys, Ichigo instructed him to park at the back door where they would make their exit furtively later on.

Just as discreetly they made their entrance and searched high and low for a wasted Grimmjow Jeagerjacques. An electronica rendition of Baltimora's Tarzan Boy accompanied them on their hunt. When the song drew to a close Ulquiorra's eyes paused at a couch in the corner of the club. There was the all too familiar sight of his towering cousin sprawled across the furniture. An empty beer bottle was in his right hand, his left hand seemed to be buried somewhere, and from a distance he appeared to be lying on another man. A man with flowing auburn locks. Both were as passed out as jungle animals after a major killing.

Curious, he increased his pace and zeroed in on the deserted corner. Ichigo followed after him.

It was when Ulquiorra stood at half a meter's length away from the couch did he see everything in crystalline view. The image scarred him, if not momentarily.

"Why did you stop all of a sudden?" Ichigo called from behind. He was busy scanning the club inside out that he walked straight into his inert co-star. "At least give me a warning, jeez."

"I forgot to knock," Ulquiorra said at last.

"But there isn't any door!" Ichigo exclaimed. "Unless you are intoxicated by the retro beats alone—" he was cut off when he saw what Ulquiorra previously saw. "Oh," his tone couldn't have been anymore underwhelmed. _Renji?!_ "Look who we have here. My baboon of a childhood friend and that bigoted cousin of yours. So..." He surveyed the two unconscious men with stunted interest. "Err...what do we do now?"

"We do what we came here to do."

"Which is...?" Ichigo couldn't get a foothold on reality just yet. The blame was not to lie with him. Anyone who walked in on two strapping men lying on the couch together in a most compromising position would bear the same reaction. Wrong, he corrected himself, it was Grimmjow resting a hand on his buddy's crotch. Both their shirts were unbuttoned and there were some questionable sore spots on the redhead's torso.

"Get them out of here." Ulquiorra stood over his cousin, then bent down and snatched a wallet from his Dsquared jeans. He fished a wad of dollar notes from the bill compartment, motioned for a staff to come over with the bill and stuck them in the leather folder. "He's paying."

"What about Renji?"

Ulquiorra gingerly removed the offending hand from Renji's crotch, then wrapped an arm around his cousin's waist and hauled him to his feet. "He can pay for the _other_ tab when they wake up in the morning."

Ichigo nodded and after throwing a scandalized look at his friend, snuck out of the club together with his green eyed co-star, with the inebriated redhead in tow. They managed to make a successful escape, partly due to Ichigo's earlier bribery of the valet, and partly due to the club's occupants being too spaced out to notice their existence. They placed the two drunk men in the back of the car, strapped them down with the seat belts, and promptly drove off.

All was well until an eagle-eyed paparazzi photographed them leaving together in the silver Impreza.


	20. Let's Talk About...: Part One

**SEIREITEI MORNING TRIBUNE**

**Saturday, 9 October 2009**

 

**Entertainment News: Shinji Hirako confident of resounding success for new movie**

**(Tokyo) Acclaimed director Shinji Hirako has promised his latest movie, Autumn Chrysalis, would move everyone from the embers of 2006 to an invigorating 2010. This bold statement came during the film convention held in Tokyo over three days.**

**Autumn Chrysalis is adapted from the bestselling quasi-historical novel by Unohana Retsu. It chronicles the destiny of a young samurai who left his hometown at 16, choosing to live a life he can proudly call his own. There, he ran into another man, and circumstances had them become friends then lovers, despite their apparent social standings.**

**Movies touching on previously taboo subjects such as homosexual love, often accompanied by shadowy sex scenes, have become the new standard in the industry. Actors wishing to make a name for themselves often take up the roles of gay men, and the industry in return rewarded them for their bravado and intensity with numerous accolades. Lee Ang's Brokeback Mountain in 2006 kickstarted the fever, and in 2010, Shinji believes that Autumn Chrysalis will take over and spearhead the genre.**

**The movie, scheduled to be released in October 2010, has seen its progress slightly derailed by a ban imposed on all ongoing film productions in Tokyo. This comes as a calculated measure to prevent the spread of a rumored influenza virus stemming from poultry in the region.**

**The two lead actors, Ulquiorra Schiffer (24) and Kurosaki Ichigo (23), are also widely rumored to share a troubled working relationship. Insiders said this has indirectly caused a delay in the schedule too, and the studio's top management is keeping a tight watch on the budget.**

**The studio's previous project, Terra:2050, saw its budget soar to astronomical levels with delays in its production. Reasons for the delay had been attributed to poor communication between the action and planning aspects of the project, as well as the growing rifts between an ensemble cast of mostly A-listers. Their high pay brackets, alongside hefty computer-generated imagery (CGI) effects, had weighed heavily on the studio's finances.**

**When asked of his opinion on the actors' relationship, Shinji was his usual snarky self.**

**He said, "Call me a dumb blonde, but I think they secretly love each other."**

**Shinji Hirako is one of the 12 handpicked to headline the selection panel for the convention. A total of 149 movies would be viewed and 10 would be chosen to represent Japan in international film festivals come early 2010.**

**The famous director has always advocated the idea that love is a force of nature, and has expressed delight at the influx of media in recent years, even praising them as portals to opening the minds of many.**

**"A new dawn for these movies, previously shunned by actors who didn't want to be wrongly perceived as barking up an unorthodox path, is awakening. What we need now is the push into an ecumenical belief that true love comes in forms unbeknownst to us, and we have to learn to accept them. It can also be formless, say, in the form of shoujo manga bubbles or even pink plumes," he said to a room of reporters.**

**Shinji went on to say, "Heterosexual love, homosexual love, bisexual love. Some are open to it. Some find them, for lack of a better word, disgusting and use various affiliations to demonstrate their intolerance towards people who are different from them. They are merely labels man stick onto the physical manifestation of their wants, struggling to classify them so they can feel at ease and seek justification behind their actions. That way they would be able to sleep soundly at night. How delightful!"**

**He then added with his trademark toothy grin, "Whoever said that love between two men cannot be tender? Shakespeare, when questioned about his sexuality back then, referenced it to no less than two lambs bleating under the sun."**

**His opinion was unanimously chorused by several contemporaries in the movie industry.**

**The inaugural convention was attended by many distinguished members of the industry and chaired by Yamamoto Genryuusai, Minister of Internal Affairs and Communications.**

 

* * *

  

"So Shinji's talking about the movie. What's new?" Kurosaki Ichigo yawned. "Did you come all the way here just to wake me up for this?"

Renji sat on the foot of the bed and crossed one leg over the other. "Are you always this stupid? Of course not! Don't act as if I have no need for sleep. When I do and it's on a weekend, rest assured it's something earth shattering which involves you."

"Me?" Ichigo rubbed his eyes. "What has anything got to do with me? Yeah, I'm in the movie, but ain't that established way back in March? You deserve some of the credit, obviously," he said dryly.

The redhead sighed and flipped his long, auburn fringe to the side. "Oops. Got you the wrong paper." He removed the newspaper from Ichigo's lap and replaced it with a rolled up paper in his hand. "Read this.

 

* * *

 

**Seireitei Nine Daily - Sunday Special**

**10 October 2009**

**_BEFORE LUNCH, COMES BREAKING NEWS!_ **

**\- Your Daily Blind Item (Guess who? Guess what?) -**

**FROM REEL TO REAL: ONSCREEN LOVERS CAUGHT EXITING A MOTEL ROOM TOGETHER!**

 

**Hard to believe as it is, this pair was seen leaving a motel room together at around 2am on Saturday morning. Out on a night when there's filming the next day? What would their director say? That doesn't matter - for now. The big budget movie production which they are currently working on together has been delayed by certain unforeseen circumstances.**

**Two people and a couple of beers. Nothing surprising. What's wrong with grabbing a drink with your co-star as and when you like? Absolutely nothing, unless both actors already have bad blood churning between them, made known to the world with their very public spat back in August.**

**According to our sources, these two actors normally wouldn't go within a yardstick of each other, much less head out together at night. And when they get together, it would be an exhibition of insults and even fists. Seeing them drink together in one of Tokyo's top nightspots would be rarer than finding a needle in a haystack.**

**Could their notorious working relationship be just a smokescreen for their underground liaisons?**

**We can't tell, especially with one party having won a major award recently for his work.**

**Actor A, who is infamous for his silence and fancies a rather eclectic make-up style, was spotted in the passenger seat. Actor B, whose name can also be interpreted as a fruit, was behind the wheel. Harmless stuff? But there is more to come, especially given the scintillating love scenes between them in their movie.**

**More people are stepping up with eyewitness accounts on how they saw these two actors leave the club, only to snuck into a motel together, one after the other in an attempt to bid secrecy. They were seen coming out just after 30 minutes or so. Perhaps they could try harder the next time; this couple's appearance ain't exactly conspicuous.**

**"It was a quickie," said a housekeeper at the motel. "Their clothes were messy when they left the room."**

**Another witness - the motel's receptionist, also declared she saw the actors with her very own eyes, and claimed she couldn't believe it.**

**"This is absolutely crazy. I mean, them, indulging in a hotel rendezvous? The taller actor I might believe, but the other one? In the olden days he would have been thought of as a monk or something!"**

**A valet at the nightspot gave a similar account and provided details on how they planned on sneaking out via the backdoor.**

**With comments like this, the talented Actor A sure had us all fooled.**

**No doubt both camps will strive to deny it, but our source has photographic evidence. Will it be revealed before their agencies snuff it out? Sure, if you can see past their disguises and the foggy windscreen.**

**Our ratings for this blind? Five upon five. We guarantee rife media speculation over their identities the next few days, or even more.**

**Oh, and one more thing. Did we forget to explicitly mention they are both men?**

**Hint: Green and orange are both ends of a double tipped color pencil.**

 

* * *

 

Ichigo stopped reading at this point. Green and orange? What was this about anyway? He needed not be acquainted with literary theory to dissect this piece of garbage; anyone with half a working brain would. Not only was it full of subjective bollocks, it was intentionally misleading as did all tabloid articles. He didn't need the paparazzi breathing down his neck. What he wanted was another week of peace to complete the impromptu practice sessions at Ulquiorra's place.

"Pretty damn smoking, huh?" Renji gave a sardonic grin. "The most obvious piece of blind I'll ever find in the tabloids. Know what? Everyone is scrambling to find out who these two actors are, and duh, all clues point to you and him! Especially the part where it hinted at 'a very public spat'. The whole world knows how you threw up on Ulquiorra some two months ago."

Ichigo shook his head. "We didn't do a thing, you crimson bozo."

"Tell me, when did this begin? Always knew you would cave in to your primal urges and fight your so-called foe in the bedroom. All the signs were streaming in, even from way back. So much for your endless protests on how 'straight' you are."

The actor frowned at his friend, half in irritation and the other half in clipped surprise. "You dare even smile? If not for you and that idiot who's all up for a permanent brawl, none of this would have happened!"

Abarai Renji pushed his friend's feet off the bed and lay down on the freed up space. "Don't be crazy. What have I got to do with this grand mess you've stepped into?"

"Right." Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "I wonder who's the one who got himself all drunk dancing to retro pop and felt up by some crazy blue haired alien in a teacup which spins endlessly? Must be really nice waking up next to a man of your build. Care to do it again?"

"The central question in this hullabaloo is," Renji interjected, waving a hand about, as if to ward off an incoming stream of questions. "How the heck am I going to handle the goddamn press for you? Think Renji, think! PR strategies. Oh-thank god for me."

Ichigo felt like hurling abuse at the redhead, but stopped short of it. Sunday mornings had always been a favorite of his, and he could already make out the aroma of freshly made waffles, drowned in maple syrup wafting into his room.

"Count yourself lucky," he griped as he made his way to the bathroom and washed up.

 

* * *

 

"Holy motherfucker of all shits," Grimmjow cursed as he read the back pages of Tokyo's most notorious tabloid paper. "Fucking little fuckers on a fucking morning."

His famous cousin glanced at him. "Have you rinsed your mouth?"

Grimmjow placed both feet on the coffee table and crossed them. "Am I still stuck in that fucking teacup from hell?"

"For others, it is temporary. For you, it is permanent."

The television was switched on, but no one paid any attention to it. A music programme was airing currently and a pop singer had just finished an energetic song and dance routine. The presenters went on to discuss the latest tabloid blind. A phone line was also set up for viewers to send in their guesses. Ulquiorra found the show incredibly obnoxious and reached for the remote control. He turned the television off and took a sip of his coffee.

"Hey boring bastard. Don't behave as if nothing is worth your fucking attention." Grimmjow flipped through the paper again, not bothering to notice which page his large hand was rambling through. "The impossible just happened. And like those cunts on TV were saying, everyone's guessing who's this illicit couple who did fuckity times in a motel room."

Ulquiorra Schiffer glared at him sharply. "At the age of 25, I would have expected you to display the littlest trace of intelligence, to discern between fact and haphazardly constructed myths, and to form your own line of thought. Not to mention be accountable for your own well-being."

Grimmjow returned to the newspaper with a deep frown and tunelessly hummed a song. He gave the article another look, taking in each and every word as if they were drops of precious whiskey. At last he came to a sound, if not incredulous conclusion.

"So you fucked him? Or did he-oh fuck this. Do I need to know this fucking mess?" Grimmjow returned his cousin's glare. "Spare me the shit."

A tiny twitch appeared between Ulquiorra's eyebrows. "Did you not hear what I just said?"

"So he was bang on. Fuck. Get me a Jim Beam or a fucking defibrillator. I think my heart just stopped beating."

Ulquiorra sighed quietly. "If you want to die, go find a spot by the trash bin downstairs and remain there. Don't ever return to this house. I am not fond of supernatural entities." He made his way upstairs to the study, his pet cat trailing after him dutifully, but not before throwing Grimmjow Jeagerjacques some feline shade.

 

* * *

 

When the phone rang at 7.30 Kurosaki Ichigo was sound asleep. He was having a dream almost identical to the one he had months ago. From the unfriendly looks his co-star gave him right down to the way he threw a glass of wine over his head, leaving the both of them to paddle furiously in a sinking pool of alcohol. Except this time, they held onto each other out of desperation, struggling to survive against all odds. Sea waves crashed violently against an unseen shore line, and the skies were dark. So dark that he couldn't see a thing, and Ulquiorra's gleaming green eyes became his guiding light. A tiny beam of moonlight shone on their wet bodies, carelessly tossed about in nature's rage. Heavy rainclouds gathered overhead. A huge storm was imminent. Thunder rumbled, and before the last bout of lightning struck the churning waters, their mouths joined together in a kiss.

That was when he woke up. He looked around in the fuzzy morning light filtering through his window, and saw no traces of water on the floor. He heaved a sigh of relief. The catastrophe was now only a distant dream. The darkness, the foreboding sense of doom. They were all gone. He was safe and dry and on solid land, but he was alone. Gathering pieces of his consciousness together, he then realized there was no Ulquiorra Schiffer kissing him.

"Shit, I don't need such crappy thoughts now," he mumbled to himself.

The phone was still ringing, not his cell phone but the one downstairs in the living room. Convinced no one was going to pick it up, he pushed the covers off of himself and slid down the bed clumsily. It took him a while to get there, but the phone never stopped ringing.

"Yeah?" he answered in a groggy voice.

"Oi. It's about time you get off your bed," said Renji.

"Just did. Now what?"

"Got some plans lined up for you today."

Ichigo scratched his head. "Today? It's Monday, isn't it?"

"Duh. Don't talk to me about Mondays or Sundays. They are all the same to me," Renji sulked from the other end of the line.

"Why? Hey wait," Ichigo slapped his forehead. "Don't you think it's a bit too early to have me play Aunt Agony to whatever problems you have?"

"My problem? Your problem is my problem, dude. And when your problem is causing me serious insomnia at night, I'm gonna make sure we rectify this as soon as possible!"

"Anyway, I've something on today."

"Strike that off then. We're gonna go on a wild PR spree today! With your ahem, girlfriend, of course. Have to say she's one hell of a busy woman these days. New perfume, new movie, in the talks to co-design a fashion line."

"It's important," Ichigo countered.

Renji let out a loud sigh. "Nothing's more important than trying to salvage the rumors of you and Ulquiorra flying all over the place. Look, the best way to shut the paps up is by feeding them with what they've forgotten in the first place. You're well, I don't know, I guess, supposedly straight and with a girl, right? We have to nail that to the back of their heads. And, tonight's the premiere of her debut movie. The tabloid item has kinda damaged her standing, you know that? Her management doesn't want the gossip and possibly the downfall of your relationship to threaten the ticket receipts. They have been hounding me like crazy since yesterday, saying I gotta do this, I gotta do that. Arrange this, that, whatever. I'm not asking for much, friend, just that you come along on this media circus ride, treat it as a movie, and act the part of a devoted boyfriend. You can even make up your own lines! Thought you hate memorizing? So this should work, right? Then we can all wrap up and go home, or in your case, prepare to attend the premiere as her date."

"The premiere?"

If Renji could travel via optic fibers he would reach into the mouthpiece and strangle the heck out of his friend. "Yeah," he spat harshly, "don't tell me you cleanly forgot about it. It's part of your contract, remember?"

"Nah, I didn't," Ichigo laid a finger on the red button. "Just, well...just not today."

A pause on Renji's side. "Don't tell me you're gonna...?" he asked in suspicion. "Everyone's waiting to catch you redhanded now, I bet. Your names are thrown up in the air like juggling balls and I suggest you could lie low for a bit. You don't have to brave every single storm. Sometimes, just let it pass and die down."

Ichigo needed to end this conversation in the fastest time possible. "Don't worry, I'll be at the studio this evening for the premiere. 7pm sharp I guarantee. As for the rest, sorry, pal. I really have something important later," he said, and hung up before Renji could say anything else.


	21. Let's Talk About...: Part Two

 

Ichigo never expected to find peace in his purported rival's home, but peace aplenty greeted him. The apartment was really quiet for a change. No studio flipped on, nor was the television. Renji's words in the morning rang in his ear like an urgent siren, reminding him that apart from proper acting, it was vital to adhere to his contract, one tantamount to his reputation in the media. He wondered what would their reactions be like if the cat was let out of the bag - that he wasn't dating Orihime. Who would end up in a worse situation? Him or her? Either way it wasn't fair to both parties, but sometimes they didn't have a choice. Most decisions were left to their management companies, and while breakups between celebrities are deemed as alright and frequent, being bound to a contractual relationship to promote themselves wasn't really given the same fanfare. Ichigo knew of some celebrities who participated in such arrangements. He was friends with one such couple too. All was good, but once the contract was broken, both suffered a steep decline in popularity.

He, like Orihime, initially protested the idea, but the management got the better of them. Being in a faux relationship, they said, brings many benefits. Don't be overly mistaken about it. See, when one gets to hog the limelight, the other party is brought in too. The spotlight is extended for two. It's a one-for-one promotion! It's one plus one equals two! But not everyone can be involved in such shady liaisons. First, they have to look cute together. Everyone loves adorable things. You have to capture their hearts - that's the way to get them line, hook, and sinker. Second, the man has to carry shades of rebelliousness in him. The woman - anything would go, as long as she's not trashy or begging to be slapped. Self-promotion is paramount in this industry of theirs, and most starlets, as they were back then, craved for them.

_You have to always let people know you are around. Remind them. Because they tend to be forgetful. Because this world is full of people who can, at a snap of the fingers, replace you. Once you fall off their radar that's it. It's going to be a long climb back to the top. Do something that catches their attention. Do it at every single chance you get. Do it via any means you can. Any news is good news. Remember it! This way they can never forget you._

Better to lay the foundation first, they twittered excitedly too, than blindly believe pure talent is sufficient. Of the thousand strong recruitment in the entertainment circuit every other month, only one or two possess the true potential to reign supreme. Some are fortunate enough to have relations in the industry. Best is if their parents are film producers themselves. It's a literal one-way ticket to stardom. Even if you suck. The rest are left to their own devices. Sink or swim. Better still if you have talent and looks and a tinge of charisma. Coupled with a fantastic marketing strategy, the world is practically your oyster.

"Yeah right," Ichigo scoffed in silence. "More like a bloody clam with a shit load of dirt."

It was times like this that he envied Ulquiorra's public persona, or rather, the severe lack of. The man never had a problem with displaying his true self openly, that was if his true self was a indifferent, reclusive, stoic man with a penchant for odd-looking appearances and chilly remarks. On the surface he seemed compliant with his management's decisions, never questioning them, but inside, who really knew what went on in his mind? Briefly Ichigo wondered if they had ever proposed a similar self-marketing plan to Ulquiorra too.

Nah, Ichigo shook his head. He probably thinks he's superior to every creature who has walked this planet. And, he's too eccentric to be paired up with someone else in real life. No one will ever buy it, ha ha.

Unfortunately, Ulquiorra Schiffer's sense of superiority was only enabled by his unrivaled prowess to translate scripted characters into living, breathing humans whose haunting presence on film seeped deep into the viewer's soul long after the credits had rolled. In any way, he was himself. Suppose he belonged to himself too.

He looked over at Ulquiorra, absorbed in his script. The older man wore a simple black tee and dark blue pants folded at the hem. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and he brushed them away with a finger. Legs tucked neatly beneath him, he leaned against the settee ever so slightly, as if afraid the furniture would crumble into a thousand pieces if he were to so much apply an ounce of weight. Sometimes he was so quiet that it was easy to neglect his presence.

"Hey," Ichigo began, unsure if he should even broach the subject. "Did you...umm..."

"Read your script," Ulquiorra answered in his usual flat tone.

"Already did. Aside from the script, can't we talk about something else? It's Monday for the love of Autumn Chrysalis!"

"If it's regarding the script, then yes."

"Script, yeah, those are scripts alright. Scripts written by laymen and people who are caught up in the recent tabloid frenzy about...us..."

Ulquiorra put his script down, and took a long, thoughtful sip of his morning coffee. "What about them?"

"Well," the younger man rubbed his nose, trying to nurse his embarrassment at bringing up the topic. "Nothing much. Just that they are...stories about us, you know, together and the such."

"I have not seen, much less read them." Ulquiorra took another sip of his coffee. "What do you mean by 'together'?"

"Err...as in that kind of together. Like we're in a relationship or something. A real life relationship which involves dating and...other stuff."

Ulquiorra stared at him with the soulfulness of a corpse. "A relationship? Dating?"

Ichigo laughed nervously and fiddled with his script. "It's all fiction! Don't get your knickers in a knot over them. No way are they real! They are just fan stories written by people who have way too much time on their hands. Besides, I'm already attached. I'm all about monogamy, if you should ever think otherwise." He rounded off with another bout of tense laughter.

The older man carefully placed the porcelain cup back on its saucer. "If so, why do you read them? Do you, like them, have too much time on your hands?"

"Don't be nuts. I didn't! Yuzu and Karin said those stories were floating around some forum, and they read them. Yuzu even commented on how good they were. The hell she's right. She gave me the links and yeah, I pretty much had nothing to do after a heavy Sunday lunch. No harm clicking on them, right? Which I did. Made me wish I hadn't in the first place. Sundays are not to be wasted like that! Besides, some stories are plain stupid." Ichigo mustered a poor impersonation of smugness. "Some are...impossible. Scratch that. Make that most. Wait a sec. Make that all! Imagine reading about you and me in some silly, lovey-dovey romantic comedy plot? _Please._ " He made a face. "Excuse me while I head over to the basin and choke myself." As much as Ichigo said, he didn't mention the many R-rated moments they 'shared' in the stories. And certainly he didn't mention how they made his innocent brain trip several times.

"This does not come as a surprise to me," Ulquiorra replied calmly. "Just a question I have for you."

"Oh wow. What can it possibly be?"

"Who do you think wrote them?"

"Duh! Of course they have to be silly twits with a penchant for tabloid gossip and err..." Ichigo explained. "Those who like seeing us...together."

"No. What I meant was: what do you make of their gender? Generally speaking."

Immediately Ichigo was reminded of the many awestruck gazes strewn at him when he walked down the red carpet during movie premieres. "Girls with an excessive dose of imagination?"

"Most likely it's them. It is never arduous to think up two members of their opposite sex engaging in salacious behavior with each other. That is if they are not repulsed in the first place. Through the projection of a relationship which eludes them entirely - there are no similarities found, they are at liberty to pick out their own sexuality and explore it with detachment."

"Complicated as always, coming from you," Ichigo sarcastically commented.

"You started it."

"I certainly did not-" Ichigo decided to keep a check on his short fuse. "Oh well. In other words, whoever the writers are, they are letting their imaginations take over the hellish realm of impossible."

"I do not know. You are the one who have seen and read them, not me."

"Jeez man. Can't they go bother about something, or even someone else? What a stinking load of trouble."

Ulquiorra didn't say a word, but finished his coffee and returned to the script.

 

* * *

 

A harried Renji called at 4.30pm, desperate to ensure his friend would show up for the premiere later at night. He was bothered endlessly by PR representatives on both sides. They called when he was having toast for breakfast, gulping down a can of Sapporo draught beer, flipping through his magazines, playing Wii, reading some manga, taking a quick snooze. They even hounded him when he was taking a dump! Sometimes Renji felt as though he was the hotshot, and not the resourceful, wily, cool as a cucumber agent/manager he was supposed and trying very hard to be.

He didn't want to put his best friend on the spot - after all, the whole boyfriend-girlfriend setup was his idea to begin with. He started off with good intentions, but now it looked set to fall apart. Not that the relationship was failing; how could something non-existent be a failure? He admitted he could be a tiresome block of wood at times, as do most guys, but it was clear as day that the fake relationship was already leaning towards a case of, dare he say, one-sided love. If it took him this long to uncover it, surely Ichigo would still remain in the dark. That man was sensitive and caring despite his devil-may-care attitude, but he was incredibly hopeless when it came to matters of the heart.

After Ichigo promised time and again he would definitely show up on time for Orihime's debut showing on the big screen, Renji finally hung up. More than anything he needed assurance from his famous friend. Grabbing a towel and a change of clothes from his closet, he trooped off to the bathroom, needing to make himself tidy and fresh for the event later. He may not be the headline act, but he would be lurking somewhere in the background, reminding Ichigo what he ought and ought not to do. The last thing they needed was another baseless tabloid article suggesting Ichigo was merely using Orihime as his beard.

Renji took an electrical shaver to his chin and slid it from left to right. He tilted his head upward and shaved under his chin, making sure the two day old stubble was out of sight. He flossed his teeth and rinsed out bits of food with Listerine. He trimmed his nose hairs, and was about to straighten his eyebrows when he realized they were replaced by tattoos three years ago. He slapped some water on his face until he felt totally refreshed. Looking himself in the mirror, he ran a hand across his cheeks and chin, satisfied that it now felt as smooth as a baby's bottom.

But there was something that perturbed him. He tugged at the collar of his army green tee, pushing it down to reveal a well-toned chest. A constellation of red dots was visible on his left breast, each angry in their right. He couldn't fathom how they came about, and attributed them to mosquitoes initially. However he came to realize they weren't itchy at all, just red and splotchy. They couldn't be from the drinking either. He never was allergic to alcohol.

Perplexed, he turned on the tap and splashed more water on his face. Thinking about that Saturday morning drove his mind into an agonizing blank. He remembered dancing in the club with Grimmjow, and the bountiful bottles they chugged down. In fact, he was talking about Sex Pistols and the evolution of punk, when in the next second he found himself in a motel room with his shirt unbuttoned and off his shoulders. His pants, thank god, were intact. So was his wallet. He was alone, but that didn't seem like the case. From the dent of the pillow and warmth on the creased bedsheets, he was certain someone had slept next to him. And that someone had made a beeline for the exit before he woke up. But who? And what exactly went on while he blacked out?

I must be going slightly mad, Renji thought as he dried his face with a towel. _I must be!_

 

* * *

 

By evening Ichigo was all dressed up for the movie premiere. An experienced stylist was on hand to make him presentable and smart as would a bona fide movie star. He was clad in a black wine tuxedo, and his already wild orange hair was made wilder with hairspray and wax. The ends were stiff and resistant to nature's forces. They are going to be difficult to wash off later, he grimaced. It's going to eat away at my bedtime, damn it! And do I even have enough shampoo to deal with...this?

A little after eight he got into a shiny black limousine with Orihime. Like all respectable limos it had everything you need at an arm's length away. Pricey champagne in a bucket of ice, chilled wine glasses, an invertible LCD screen, a laptop, wireless connection, game consoles, neat stacks of magazines, a small dressing mirror, and a sharply suited chauffeur who donned white gloves.

Ichigo uncapped a bottle of Perrier and drank it. He uncrossed his legs and stretched them to his heart's content. Of all amenities provided he appreciated the generous leg space most. Second was the leather upholstery. Fatigued nerves soothed by soft music floating in from tiny speakers hidden away from view, he held onto the water bottle like a palm rest and reclined into the roomy backseat and closed his eyes, determined to get some shuteye before hopping into a pot of media frenzy.

"Kurosaki-kun," Orihime turned to him, her poise tensed. "T-Thank you for coming."

He lazily opened one eye. "Err?"

She tilted her head to the side. Dark orange strands, freshly permed and set, fell about her bare shoulders in loose waves. The dim lights radiated off them, creating an extra soft glow about her.

"I mean, I understand you have been tied up with your own work as well. Looking at you, you must be really tired. So for you to fork out a night like this, I'm grateful but also sorry to disrupt your schedule. Hope you won't mind."

Ichigo sat up straight, and rolled the bottle between his palms. "What are you saying, Inoue? It's nothing."

"No it's not nothin-"

"It's your first ever movie premiere later, so stop thinking about such things. Think of how you're going to pose on the red carpet later, soaking up the atmosphere and blowing air kisses at your fans. Think of how you are going to enjoy the whole experience. I guarantee it'll be a total blowout!"

She blushed a little. "Sounds silly yet scary at the same time."

"It definitely is," Ichigo grinned. "Nowhere as scary as your cooking, though. That stuff is made of nightmares."

Orihime gulped. "I thought you said it was near restaurant standards?"

"I was only joking with you."

She smiled back at him. Her eyes however, portrayed a different story.

"It's nothing much, OK? Think of it as the fruits to your labor. Bet you didn't feel like this when filming, don't you? I guess it's a walk in the park."

Her face paled at the recollection. "I went through many takes just to get a scene right..."

Ichigo's lips twitched at the corners. _Oops._ "Anyhow, it will be just like a party and basically what you have to do is show up. Which we are obviously going to. And don't worry. I promise not to steal your thunder."

Orihime gave a bashful smile, then turned and looked out the tinted window. Streetlights and trees passed by them in a whirl, reminding her of the accelerated lifestyle she led since graduating from high school. She tried counting the trees along the road but soon gave up. The limo cruised along at 90 km/h. Elevator music played in the background, filling in the temporary vacuum between them. Ichigo picked out the tune and carelessly hummed along.

At last she spoke. "Thank you, Kurosaki-kun. I feel much better now. More relaxed. Earlier in the dressing room, Tatsuki said I was practically a nervous wreck! I have no idea why I felt like that. It's not exactly the first time I've done this. It shouldn't even be a problem, but I...just can't stop feeling like something's going to pull me under."

Ichigo looked at her. "Because you care a lot for this project."

She gave a slow, contemplative nod.

"Plus you look really nice tonight," he said, reining in the sight of one of Japan's most desirable women. Any normal man would have his heart set fluttering by her. Looking at her now - that went without saying. But not Ichigo. He couldn't make out an appropriate reason why he didn't feel like most men. Two years since they had known each other, and still, nothing. He supposed not everyone possessed the magic to conjure up pink plumes and have them dance around them merrily at selected intervals of the day.

Orihime spun around to see warm hazel orbs boring into her. "Are you laughing at me again?" she asked meekly.

"Nah. No reason to," he uncapped the bottle and drank more water to soothe his thirst. "So, what's the designer label you're wearing this time? Looks like the one Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast At Tiffany's. What is it called again?"

"Givenchy."

Ichigo gave a nod. "Fits you like a glove."

"Thanks," she said, blushing.

"One more thing," he held up his Perrier bottle for emphasis. "My ears are sore from all your thanks and apologies."

Orihime nodded, her lithe hands clasped firmly on the mauve leather clutch. "Sorry."

 

* * *

 

Ichigo, having stayed late into the night, climbed into his bed at the crack of dawn. He managed to grab three hours of sleep before scrambling downstairs like a drunkard for breakfast, only to make a detour to the bathroom when he remembered he had yet to wash up. He scrubbed himself clean, shaved, tousled his hair, brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth several times until he was convinced he smelled like freshly chopped mint leaves. He didn't want to be chastised for his 'poor' oral habits again, especially when he had to indulge in some scripted intimacy with his co-star. As he bit into the buttered toast, he pondered which scene would Ulquiorra suggest they practise first. His cheeks turned up the heat when he drifted further into his thoughts. Realizing he was stuck in a sky-high rut, he hastily downed a cup of honeyed water before dashing to his car. He turned the ignition key, flipped the stereo on and drove out the narrow driveway. When the silver Impreza hit the highway, he switched gears and sped all the way to his co-star's place.

 

* * *

 

Ichigo managed to reach his destination in one piece, albeit being late by 40 minutes. Knowing how Ulquiorra was a stickler for rules set in stone, he came up with a series of excuses to avert any potential cold shoulder given by the man himself.

"Traffic's bad," Ichigo called out the moment he closed the door behind him. "Stuck for a while. Don't mind, yeah?"

Ulquiorra was in the kitchen, fixing up a bowl of milk for his cat. "Since all the way from last night, starting from the gates of the television studio?"

"Hey. I only attended the premiere and stayed for the post party. Got to see things to the end, especially when it's her first movie. Speaking of which, she's really good for a first timer."

"I didn't ask for an explanation or elaboration of that woman's ability."

"Whatever floats your boat, bloody Schiffer boy." Ichigo helped himself to a glass of water. His throat was parched from last night's endless bout of interviews hinging on his relationship with Ulquiorra and Orihime. Renji was there to help fend off the ravenous reporters, and the ex-teen hotshot had no choice but to take the bite and stay very closely to his 'girlfriend' throughout. "You really can learn to give people a chance, Quiqui."

"Do they deserve it?"

Ichigo nearly choked on his water. That was such a typical Ulquiorra answer, but it made him laugh nonetheless. Either the stoic man had an unmatchable sense of obscure humor or he was getting used to his caustic nature. "Figured out which scene we are going to concentrate on today?"

Ulquiorra called his cat over and placed the bowl on the floor. "The third one."

"You mean the one where Murakami and Takamatsu sees each other when the war's ongoing, and have a rendezvous in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, that. It is entirely different from what we used to do for the previous two scenes. This time, you are to take the initiative. Because that was what Murakami Yoshihito did."

"Got it in one."

"We will have to undress for this session. It is about time we get acquainted with each other's bodies." Ulquiorra cast a wary glance at the calendar. "We do not have the luxury of time."

"Wha-no-what?" Ichigo squawked. He left the glass in the sink before his fingers could slip in shock.

Ulquiorra bent down to scratch his cat behind the ears. "They are a tool for expressing one's emotions and the labyrinth of convulsions Man experiences. In this segment, our bodies will be used to express our characters' desire for each other, despite whatever might come their way when the first twitters of morning sound."

"S-Strip down to...where?" Ichigo couldn't stop himself from asking.

"We do not have our costumes with us, much less Shinji-san's custom made underpants. The shirt alone is sufficient. We have to be, so as to speak, less awkward with displaying traces of intimacy. Bear in mind it is not between us, but who we are before the cameras and on the movie screen. Understand?"

Ichigo nodded dumbly, his cheeks emitting heat as he followed Ulquiorra to the living room. They sat on the designer settee, each lost to their own random thoughts. Wordlessly, Ichigo removed his shirt and left it on the coffee table.

Ulquiorra looked over at his topless co-star, and suddenly felt the impending need to address some issues. He may be utterly ignorant when it came to understanding people and their inner workings, but intuition brought on by intellect exercised in the correct manner helped nullify that fault. An intuition prone to errors, though.

"I understand that we are humans and we have a pyramid of desires. According to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, our physiological needs form the base. They are to be satisfied before we can move up the next level, and so on and so forth," said Ulquiorra, as he began to unbutton his white dress shirt. "Food, water, air, and the need to copulate. Having them do not make us any different from wild beasts. It is a true call of nature, but as humans, we, simply put, possess an indefinite amount of self-control. We should. Morality, amongst other self-actualization indicators, encases the apex of this pyramid. This differentiates us from our less intelligent counterparts. Anyone who fails to do so are no better than trash in the zoo."

Ichigo stared at him in disbelief. The man can be truly unbelievable at times. _Needs?_ What was he now trying to do by saying all these before their practice? _Copulate? Self-control? Trash in the zoo?_ As if the gears in his brain weren't already raking up a whirlpool inside, Ulquiorra had to fiddle with the rest of the buttons on his shirt. He was bidding his own sweet time, and it seemed like forever before the last button came undone.

A pale strip of flesh emerged between two pillars of cotton white, before expanding to a field of winter white. His normally ashen complexion, when bathed in filtered sunlight, emitted a serene glow. The shirt slid off his shoulders and arms in one cascading flow. Ichigo soon found himself gazing helplessly at the very chest responsible for hurling him head first into the eye of a whirlpool. A chest that was neither too broad nor narrow. It was just right for someone of his physique. A slim and toned body. Lean muscles gained from Kendo rippled faintly across his arms and torso. He tried imagining the texture of Ulquiorra's body beneath his fingertips, but it was like trying to picture himself clinging helplessly to a piece of driftwood at sea.

He looked up and saw Ulquiorra staring back at him with those brilliant green depths.

"What is there to see?" his co-star queried. "Were you not the one who proclaimed what a man has, another man has as well?"

"Shut up and get to it," Ichigo grouched, his senses screwed up. He was feeling the lack of sufficient rest setting in. He must be. "Don't make things sound more complex than they already are."

"I will not hold it against you if during the practice your body acts against your will. As said, not every animal has the capability to control themselves," said Ulquiorra, continuing to sound unmoved and self-righteous at the same time. Even when he was feeling messed up and increasingly queasy in his guts, he never failed to maintain a blank demeanor. It wasn't even acting; it came naturally to him. For a while he thought he succeeded, then his mouth betrayed him by jumping the gun and divulging something he hadn't planned to:

"You can simply excuse yourself and head over to the washroom."

"W-What? Never!" Ichigo sputtered and almost lost his balance on the beige settee. "Me a-a-aro…u...sed by y-y-you?" he blushed wildly. "Never a chance in hell! Hello, I'm straight! Obviously. Which part of me looks like I'm...I'm...err..." He cleared his throat with great difficulty and swore he sighted the beginnings of a thin smirk spreading across Ulquiorra's countenance. _How dare he even suggest that? The nerve!_ He blinked, and it was gone.

"Stupid piece of a walking corpse! Trying to throw me off balance again? Can't believe I almost fell for it!" he huffed. "Don't think you just scored one over me. Your devious manipulation doesn't count!"

Ulquiorra merely stared straight ahead. "If you should at any given point of time lose yourself between two worlds, just remember that we are enacting a scene between two lovers who are unable to see beyond the night. If you wish to become an acclaimed actor, that is the fundamental matrix you have to tackle. Segregate yourself from your character. Can you do that?"

"Well, I'm working on it."

The green eyed actor continued to prattle on about the dangers actors, especially the newbies, tend to slip into when engrossed in the act - all of which Ichigo already knew, ran through the actions acceptable for the scene, and their personal boundaries which they agreed on. Hands off the crotch area, no usage of tongue on any part of the body other than the mouth, and no showings of perversion.

"Are we finally clear on this?" he asked.

"Yeah. It sure took you long enough. Didn't we set the guidelines, I mean you, more than some two weeks ago? Remember that sheet of paper you made me sign? It had the self-awareness to realize how screwed up it is, and decided to leap off the building."

The older man drilled him with a brittle glare. "In this case I shall expect nothing less than perfection from you."

"OK. Don't explode in shock when you realize how good I really am."


	22. Let's Talk About...: Part Three

If there ever was a time where reel and real danced past their barriers and merged into a single stream of consciousness, this was it. Stuck halfway between the real world and a dream-like state, two people deserted in their own little world. Here Ichigo was, lying on top of a shirtless Ulquiorra Schiffer, touching him. They weren't kissing yet, just navigating each other's bodies with their hands, making sure they grew accustomed to the sensations and felt comfortable in their bare skin. Brave and nonchalant and indifferent as Ichigo tried to be, he caught himself blushing again when Ulquiorra's naked torso press up against his.

His fingers were like a compass, searching for a direction. They set sail across the smooth, pale chest radiating with a desirous glow, sometimes going around in circles, sometimes skimming across the surface. As if painting a picture, they traced the contour of Ulquiorra's body. He planted a light kiss on the man's left chest, the exact spot where his heart lay beneath. He could feel his co-star's heartbeat traversing through his lips and into his veins. It was rhythmic, like the ebb and flow of waves nudging against the shore. His heart was beating mile a minute. The air around them thinned, and he wondered if the other man could hear the pounding. To him it was deafening, like thunder striking the sea, with their deep rumbles traveling through vacuum. The hands running up and down Ulquiorra's body were his, but they weren't his too. In all honesty, he didn't know what he was doing. What he knew was he could no longer be himself. He wasn't even of this world anymore. He belonged to the fictitious world of Autumn Chrysalis, a runaway from his samurai clan in Choshu who fell for his friend eventually.

Ulquiorra's cool hands ghosted across the carrot top's back, settling on the small of his back, as if to say, _"Remember how this feels. Remember this well lest you forget how you should feel when the cameras are rolling."_ He reached for Ichigo's lightly tanned nape, his fingers grasping the short orange strands, twirling them around his forefinger even. Their mouths came together in a sloppy angle, but it worked out fine. A long time passed. Neither could tear himself away from the other. The kiss grew deeper and with more feeling. Their throats burned and tongues clashed maniacally. Soon they would make love as if tonight was their last.

Actions became more emphasized and dramatic, ricocheting off their bodies and causing the settee to rock unsettlingly. They broke apart for a short while, gasping for breath. Lost and trapped in a puzzling state, they gazed hungrily at each other before launching into another searing kiss. They didn't hold back anymore, not after realizing what they could do when fully cloaked in the safety of their characters.

As their passion hit the peak, so did the settee. Unable to bear the tipping of balance anymore, it wavered like the sea. Sustained pressure could only get it this far. With an agitated cry the legs tumbled and snapped. Like brittle twigs roasting before a fire, cracks hissed and spat throughout the house. Outside the windows some birds flapped away in shock. A swivel of dust soared around them, jostling with confused purrs. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the two men found themselves lurching backward, as if tumbling down a serpentine path into space. Ichigo's heart was caught in his throat. They first saw stars revolving around the ceiling, and then, their legs sky high in the air, knees bent as though they were pedaling.

"What just happened?" Ichigo turned to question Ulquiorra, snug in his embrace. At last his heartbeat returned to normal. "Are we at the epicenter of a massive earthquake?"

"I believe the settee is now destroyed," Ulquiorra answered.

Arms still around Ulquiorra, Ichigo raised himself on his elbows to gawk at the mess surrounding them. The settee had somersaulted and two of its four legs splintered. Cushions were thrown up into the air and landed around the living room. No cracks were found along the marble floor.

"How did this...whoa. Hang on. Are we in some theatre production or play now? The last time I saw a sofa's legs give way was back in an early 90s slapstick comedy!"

Ulquiorra closed his eyes and choked back a sigh. "You."

" _Me?_ "

"Can let go of me now."

Ichigo hurriedly disentangled his arms from his co-star's waist. "What do we do about this then? Ask for a refund? Do you still have the warranty?"

Ulquiorra shook his head.

"Sucks to hear that. Hmm...let's see. What else can we do for your beloved little settee? I have an idea! Shall we dump it? But it's such a waste. I think I've grown a little attached to it too. Yeah-hey, can the legs can be fixed?"

"I highly doubt it."

"Oh," said Ichigo.

A frown nary crossed Ulquiorra's features. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"I do not understand your 'oh'."

"Too bad then," said Ichigo. He proffered a finger at the settee. "Live without it? Maybe you can get a sensible futon in place of your _luxurious_ settee. Learn to live the simple life every now and then. It will do your big, egotistical head an entire world of good."

Ulquiorra rolled to his side and got up. He dusted dirt off his body, rubbing his fingers together as if flicking away imaginary grains of sand, and pulled on his tee. "Remembered what we had said about one's centre of gravity?" he asked, and tossed Ichigo his pink shirt.

Ichigo caught it deftly and put it on. "You mean the one we had in the car?"

The green eyed man nodded.

"What about it?" Ichigo asked as he buttoned his shirt.

"This settee is to me what your family is to you."

 

* * *

 

Later that evening Ichigo stopped by a furniture shop in Roppongi Hills. Initially he wanted to venture further downtown and scour an acceptable settee to replace the crippled Bottega Veneta settee, but thought against it. With his income, it wasn't as if he couldn't afford an equally extravagant furniture piece. Perhaps he could get him a futon for laughs, or maybe a cheap couch. Ichigo tried to picture his pale co-star sitting on a fluffy futon, then a 5,000 yen couch. Both imaginary scenes rounded off with Ulquiorra scratching himself all over like a monkey at the thought of planting his bum on something unworthy of him.

According to Ulquiorra, the settee had endured six years of wear and tear, and due to certain reasons he refused to throw it out. What the older man had said hinged on Ichigo's memory - that the settee bore sentimental importance to him. The more he replayed those words in his mind, the sorrier he felt for his stoic co-star. He couldn't help it. Ulquiorra - bar his feline friend - lived by himself in a sparsely decorated yet pricey penthouse suite, and that made things worse. _Poor man._

For the time being, Ulquiorra would have to make do with the red beanbag they lugged from his bedroom. They shifted the damaged settee into the storeroom whilst Ulquiorra fixed him with his cold green eyes, as if berating him for what had happened.

"It's hardly my fault that the settee broke. OK, I might have been just a little too vigorous. Surely something of that exorbitant price tag can do better? And why does every time something in his house spoils, I'm there too? Am I that lucky or what? What's next? The TV exploding? I'd better get an ambulance ready, just in case. Sheesh," he mumbled under his breath as he browsed the living room section. Nothing caught his eye so far. They were all generic looking sofas, none that would fit the minimalist feel his co-star's abode evoked. He left the shop and entered another, only to come out grumbling and cursing his very fate.

Soon he visited every furniture shop along the street. Each time he exited empty-handed. His legs were aching and he was hungry. His eyelids threatened to clamp shut anytime. The night was exceptionally cold too. It was almost October. He puffed the chilly air out from his lungs and reached for a scarf when he remembered he had left it at Ulquiorra's house. Rubbing his palms together, he walked down the street when he spotted a traditional ramen restaurant with a plain looking entrance. There weren't too many people inside too - it was perfect for an inconspicuous dinner. He ordered a steaming bowl of ramen before resuming his hunt for the perfect couch.

By the time he finished combing the third street most shops were already pulling their shutters down. Save for one down in the backstreet, right by the traffic junction. He snuck a look at the large wooden sign beside the entrance. Open from 11am - 11pm daily, the sign read. Without a second's thought he stepped over the short latch and welcomed the freezing gush of air into his face. The store was large by normal standards, rivaling that of most shops he had seen earlier, but nowhere near the size of behemoth furniture stores. Racks of sofa rugs and curtains stuck out from their racks like sore thumbs, living room and dining room furniture were mixed together - an armchair was placed beside a kitchen counter, a high back chair set against a maplewood mantlepiece. Not just that, the catalogues were lying all over the place as well. Perhaps because it was already 10.15pm, there was hardly anyone in the store. Gingerly Ichigo toed over some misplaced carton boxes when he heard someone call out from behind him in a loud but friendly voice.

"Sorry sir, but we are in the midst of packing and moving to a bigger location further downtown this weekend. Hope you don't mind the mess!"

Ichigo nodded without turning around. "Is there a moving out sale going on?"

"Well sir, for some yes, for others no. Perhaps you could tell me what you're looking for?"

"Just a sofa. Or a settee. Whichever. There aren't too many differences between the two, right?"

"They do share some similarities. Sir, do you have a budget to work with, or would you like an overview?" the salesman asked, then cast a harried glance at his watch.

Ichigo thought for a while, then nodded. "I don't expect things here to be cheap."

"How about a love seat? Small, and just right. Most of them should fall within your budget. Getting it for your new home, sir?"

"Kinda."

"Newly weds?"

"No way!"

"Sorry, sir. I was only trying to help."

"Maybe you can start by asking less questions," Ichigo muttered with a scowl. A love seat was certainly out of the question. No chance in hell was he going to practise one of their intimate scenes together on a bloody love seat! Then, without warning, a bolt of remembrance for that afternoon's events struck him. His vision began to blur, and his body started to pile on the heat.

"...sir, are you listening? Hello?" the salesman called, eager to bring Ichigo back to earth. He was desperate to knock off on time tonight.

"Uh...yeah, carry on."

"You do look kind of familiar, sir. Now that I take a closer look at you..."

"I just happen to have a common appearance that's all." Ichigo brushed the inquisitive salesman off, and pulled the collar up below his nose. "What were you saying just now?"

The salesman put on a huge smile as he walked Ichigo over to a section where a huge yellow placard indicating "Brand New!" hung from the ceiling. It was the neatest section in the store, and judging by the furniture as they walked down the aisle, they didn't come cheap, nor relatively inexpensive even. Full leather sofas with fur trimmings and exquisite looking stands dotted the floor. Opulent armchairs the shade of royal purple with accommodating arm rests greeted them when they made a right turn. The salesman gestured at them, but Ichigo shook his head, frowned, and walked on. Along the way the salesman made several other recommendations. They were all outright rejected. Finally they came to a khaki brown sofa wrapped in airtight plastic.

"What about this? It was just flown in this afternoon from Tuscany. Upholstered in 100% genuine calf leather. We welcome you to touch it. The calibre speaks for itself. A three-seater with a high, strong back. See its lines. Organic and made for the ultimate comfort experience when reading or simply lounging before the TV. Its seat cushions are soft and supple. The structure is made of seasoned beech and poplar wood - extremely durable, even under pressure. What's more, pull on this hinge and see what happens." He tugged at a brass knob by the side, pulled it out, then pushed it down. "It transforms into a bed! Just add some pillows to it, throw in a quilt, and here comes bedtime. In the morning when you wake up, just do what you did in reverse, and the bed will become a functional sofa again! An ideal complement to the urbanite's apartment. Saves space, looks good. Feels even better."

Ichigo gave the sofa bed an once over. "How much?"

The salesman brandished a handheld black calculator from his back pocket and jammed in a few numbers at sonic speed. "That would be 185,620 yen after tax, sir."

The actor bit his lower lip to silence a gasp. "Before the discount or after?" he asked.

"There's no discount for this, sir. Considering its two-in-one function, and for an item of such excellent workmanship and fine materials, what you, sir, are paying is definitely value for money. It comes with a standard three year warranty, but you can opt to extend it by another three years at a special rate. By the way, would you like to add in some pillows? Maybe a sofa rug?"

Ichigo wanted to kick himself into oblivion. It wasn't that he was a cheapskate bargain hunter out to nab the best deals, but sometimes stretching his yen came as an instinctive move. Without preponderance or forewarning the question just piped up. He suspected Yuzu's self-imposed motto of 'an extra yen saved equates a loftier cushion on rainy days' was embedded in the back of his head too.

"Do you guys do instant delivery?" he asked.

"Yep," the salesman said, fatigue shading his words. "Daytime delivery - 6000 yen. Overnight delivery - 10,000 yen."

"What!"

 

* * *

 

On Thursday morning Kurosaki Ichigo entered Ulquiorra's house to see him sitting on the newly bought sofa bed. He scrutinized the man's face thoroughly, hoping to catch a strand of indication that the sofa fell within expectations. As usual Ulquiorra stayed as expressive as a stone. A letter was in his hand. Sakana sat on his lap quietly, huge amber eyes scanning lines of words in the letter, as if reading it. Looking at them, Ichigo felt he had made the correct choice. The sofa bed fitted in right away. It was simple and classy too. Something that pricey had to be. More importantly, it was really cushy and ideal for taking naps on lazy afternoons.

"Morning Sakana-chan! And _Quiqui!"_ Ichigo greeted as he dropped his backpack on the floor. He ambled over to the sofa and sank into it with aplomb, startling Ulquiorra. The latter then promptly ignored him and continued to read his letter. Sakana leaped from her owner's lap and settled on an empty space between the two men, her long striped tail curled around her body. She found the new sofa way more comfortable than its predecessor.

"What are you reading this early? Overdue bills?" Ichigo asked.

Ulquiorra pretended not to hear him.

"Fan mail?" Ichigo asked again, peering over Ulquiorra's shoulder.

"No."

"Hate mail then," the carrot top said with a devilish grin. "The haters express themselves really eloquently, don't you think so? They ought to enter their thought provoking essays in one of those literature competitions for newbies."

Ulquiorra didn't look up from his letter. "I do not see them, therefore they do not exist."

"Bullshit. Your principles of existentialism would make the great philosophers of ancient Greece weep rivers."

"What can be seen is what truly can be observed. What cannot be observed with a keen eye remains peripheral to the commonest of sensibilities and simplest of deductive logic."

"All the more I should tear down your bubble walls of materialism and let you see the world for what it is!" Ichigo snatched the letter from Ulquiorra's grip and scanned through the letter quickly before giving it a proper read.

"Hmm...I see. Now I know why you threw yourself in it with such reckless abandon!" his grin grew wider with every sentence.

The letter was from Ulquiorra's mother, and in the first few paragraphs she wrote extensively about the weather in Hakodate and that some relative of theirs was getting hitched to his longtime girlfriend in December. It is going to be a grand event, she wrote. A wedding held in winter is always lovely and a memory to keep forever. All weddings are, unless they end up in divorce, which seems to be the norm these days. Don't head down that path, Quiqui! I have great faith in you.

She also reminded him to find a proper suit, do away with the facial make up for once, attend the ceremony and wedding reception, and not create excuses to avoid showing up. Just like any mother would, she continuously nagged at him to put on more clothes now that winter was approaching. An additional layer of quilt at night would be ideal too.

While you're at it, Mrs Schiffer added, put on more weight, Quiqui. I don't want to see an anorexic piece of skin when you come here in December!

He stopped midway through the letter and cocked his head askance, striking a ponderous stance. He could picture the older Japanese lady flashing knowing winks and tricky smiles when she was composing the letter before a simple writing desk in a room, stopping every now and then to gaze at the autumnal scenery outside the window. It definitely had to be more beautiful than Tokyo's. He had been to Hokkaido with his family when he was younger, and the expanse of lavender fields stretching into the azure skies was something he tended to draw upon when he felt especially nostalgic.

"I wonder how's Mrs Schiffer doing?" Ichigo asked. "Been a week or so since she went back to Hokkaido. Having said that, I never expected you to stay in touch with your mother through old-fashioned snail mail! You really love throwing me off my guard, don't you? What an annoying ass."

Ulquiorra beamed him a lour. "She is fine. Hand that back to me now."

"Here." Ichigo folded the letter into two and returned it to his co-star. "Had I known it's from Mrs Schiffer I wouldn't have read it. Why didn't you say so earlier? Now I look like some ill-mannered punk down the street waiting to crack a few 'Yo Momma' jokes."

The older man took the letter and tucked it back into the brown envelope. "You have just successfully summed yourself up in one sentence."

Ichigo scowled. "I thought it was something funny from one of your lousy Bat Boys affiliation, or someone waiting to diss you like a cheap rag," he said. "Good riddance to them!"

"You cannot undo something you've already done," Ulquiorra replied.

Ichigo shrugged and clumsily muttered a word of apology. He didn't mean to invade his co-star's privacy, but there was no point in crying over spilled milk. Besides, he was famished. He had left his house without having breakfast, and grabbed food from the dining table while hollering goodbyes to his sisters and dodging bear hugs from his father.

He walked over to his backpack and unzipped it. Inside his bag was a daisy blue bundle, scrunched at the top with a simple knot. He took it out and laid it on the coffee table. There were two bento boxes and one Tupperware bowl. He opened the smaller of the two boxes and took two onigiri rice balls with chopped seasoned plum wrapped inside, one in each hand. He stuffed them into his mouth hungrily, swallowed, and took another two. He washed them down with green tea from his thermos flask.

"Are you impoverished in any way? If you are, you ought to know that not everything is within your reach," Ulquiorra spoke suddenly.

"What the heck are you going on about now?" Ichigo muffed between bites.

"Did this cost a lot?" Ulquiorra asked, placing a hand on the sofa bed.

"Barely a dent. And - hear me out. I absolutely did not purchase this piece of whatever."

"As expected, this looks like something only you, Kurosaki Ichigo, would even think of owning."

"Because I'm occupied with my food, I shan't bother with the likes of you. Anyway, there's something for you. Not from me though. It just happened to stow itself in my bundle."

Ulquiorra looked at the assortment of containers on the coffee table. "What is it?"

"Here," the younger actor pushed a bowl-shaped Tupperware into Ulquiorra's hands. "Yuzu made extra sweet shrimp soup last night and wanted to let you have a go at it. She says you're too sour and would do well to invite some sweetness into your banal life. Whatever you do, don't waste food. I have yet to truly forgive you for the sweetcorn incident."

Ulquiorra accepted the container. "Thank your sister on my behalf. But do not force words into her mouth either." He peeled the rubber lid open and the tantalizing aroma attacking his sense of smell proved too much to resist. Without hesitation he spooned some soup into his mouth. He didn't swallow instantly, but let the taste linger in his mouth for a while before flowing down his gullet.

They sat side by side on the sofa, consuming their food in silence. Sakana's soft mews filled the space between them. Normally Ulquiorra enjoyed the quiet peace of his home, and he was even glad that Ichigo had became less of a pain in recent weeks. Well, he still was, to a certain extent. You can't expect a person to change completely in a space of weeks. But his presence was less intolerable than when they first met. Perhaps his foresight was paying dividends - that the younger actor wasn't entirely a lost cause. He thought of his mother back in Hokkaido, and puzzled over her adamant thinking that they were really together. None of that sort. Perhaps his mother was teasing him, as she often loved to. Perhaps...

"Ah...!" Ichigo let out a noisy burp. He patted his tummy, swollen with food. "I can't get no satisfaction. I'm so full that I feel like curling up and take a nice, long nap. Just like what Sakana-chan is doing now." He leisurely ran a hand through the cat's furry coat, earning himself a soft, drowsy mew.

"You will not do that."

"I shall do whatever I want on the sofa bed I bought."

"It belongs to me now."

"Temporarily. Once we get your lousy settee sorted out, this goes back to the Kurosaki house!"

"I have finished the soup."

"Don't try to change the topic. The sofa bed's mine, I'm only loaning it out to you for free on a goodwill basis. Treat it as payment for your three-week long coaching service."

"What comes here stays here." Ulquiorra cast his co-star a pointed glare. "With the exception of you, of course. You are free to go anytime."

"I'm not leaving. I like it here. Anyway, the soup! What do you think of my sister's cooking? Pretty damn great, right?"

Ulquiorra gave a small nod. "Does she always cook this well?"

"It runs in the family. I'm not too bad myself, but Yuzu's really the cherry on the cake," said Ichigo. He jumped up from the sofa and helped himself to a glass of water in the kitchen, then returned to clear the empty containers on the table. He took them to the sink, scrubbed them inside out with dishwashing liquid, and washed them thoroughly. Then he dried them with a kitchen towel and stored them back into the blue bundle, knotted the four corners together and put it beside his backpack.

"Why am I doing all the dirty work for you? This doesn't make sense!" he complained loudly as he eased back into the sofa.

Ulquiorra studied his co-star's features for a moment. "You didn't read that part, did you?" he asked, straining to sound indifferent.

"Huh?"

"The letter. Did you read that part?"

"Which part?" Ichigo blinked. Pink plumes seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and were now clouding his vision. He thought they had gone away at last, but they proved him wrong. "I have no clue which one you are referring to."

"The—" Ulquiorra hesitated, his cheeks taking on a light hue of red. "—part where Mother spoke of caution to be exercised when..."

Ichigo drummed his fingers against the table impatiently. The buildup sounded familiar to him. He was sure he spied the opening lines or the like when he briefly glimpsed the letter. He just didn't read them in detail. "Think I did," he half-fibbed.

"You think you did?" Ulquiorra questioned. "There is no such thing as you think what you have done when an action has already occurred. The answer has to be definite since it is already a thing of the past. Nothing can change that. In a court case, you, Kurosaki Ichigo, would lose even when you are the plaintiff and rightly so. In many other cases you would have lost before the fight even begins."

Ichigo didn't rebuke. He wasn't paying close attention to his co-star's words. Instead he grew abnormally interested in what the undisclosed portion of the letter was. It had to be something worth bringing up and relatively significant to the pale man. If not, why would he speak of it after the storm had died down? Ulquiorra Schiffer wasn't one to address an issue for fun. This was a taciturn man, one who yielded extreme efficiency with his verbal output—not one word more nor a word less. Everything was weighed to devastating proportions before they were released.

"Maybe you can help jog my memory?" he lied further, trying to ride out his luck. "Sometimes I suffer from dementia, as you've said. But now, coming back, I think I really did read that portion of the letter. And if I did manage to scan it through, even only once, it will still be imprinted at the back of my head. The information could stay unlocked there, unless I summon it to the surface. So, although I may be uncertain in my reply to your question, the situation is not as symmetrically divided as a 50-50 basis. Get it, smart ass?"

"Did you or did you not?"

Ichigo's tactic wasn't working, but that didn't take away his desire to comprehend what was going on. _Keep it simple. Keep it very simple._

"OK, OK. I did. It's the part where Mrs Schiffer told us to...you know...to..." he said, putting his hands up in a form of mock surrender. He punctuated this with a couple of nods.

Ulquiorra's cheeks further reddened, if only by the smallest of fractions. _He wasn't lying when he tried beating about the bush? Or was he?_

As if reading the other man's thoughts, Ichigo nodded again. "Yeah, that. Kind of weird, huh. Funny how news travel fast."

Ulquiorra nodded in quick succession too, despite himself. He wasn't thinking straight either; something was clouding his mind. Something soft and took the form of...plumes? Where did they come from, he wondered. Perhaps he would think over it once filming finished. Meeting Ichigo's expectant gaze he recalled what he was supposed to do.

"It said, to be careful with our 'open displays of love'," he recited in a low, monotonous rush, hoping the carrot top would be bored and not catch wind of the exact content.

But Ichigo did. His ears were too sharp to miss them, his brain too intelligent to let slip the meaning wedged between words, even more so when he was primed like an eagle to capture whatever words Ulquiorra had to say. _Open displays of love?_ That sounded like something his father would spew. And from the hours he had chalked up with Mrs Schiffer, that gem of a sentence absolutely came from her. There was no doubt about it. Both their parents had a fondness for cheesy remarks and endearing themselves to humiliating bouts of corniness, often at their children's expense.

He wondered if she was merely making fun of them, or did she, being the woman who mothered Ulquiorra, see something up in the air which nobody noticed. If so, what was it? Could it be synonymous with the pink plumes swirling around his co-star now? Was he a fool for being able to see something that obviously remained invisible to the naked eye? As Ulquiorra often said, what cannot be seen does not exist. Going by that logic, if he could see those enigmatic pink plumes stretching before his very eyes, and translating them into the same meaning as had Mrs Schiffer, something definitely was going on. Something tangible. It had to be. But what was it? Could he prove it? How could someone prove something that is seen by only one person? Things like that are deemed as supernatural, unscientific phenomena. Utterly subjective, speculative at heart, and in short, total nonsense and a waste of everybody's time. Just like those maddening tabloids.

What sort of meaning should he give them? Would it be of any use? Anything which has a meaning too many tends to wind up meaningless. Stranded in an influx of perplexity and stark annoyance, he turned to the plumes and stared hard at them.

_You couldn't be anymore confused,_ the pink plumes seemed to say. _You try so hard, but in the end, you can only make so little sense out of it. Try harder. Give it all you've got. Plough through us and see what is obscured. That will be the finality to your constant bewildering outlook on us. Confused much?_

He couldn't be anymore confused.

 

* * *

  

Before nightfall, Ulquiorra ventured they did a repeat of the second lovemaking scene. It would probably be the last session before they move their act from living room to movie set, he said, and yes, they would have to get topless again. This time round it would be more challenging - they had to undress each other as their characters did in the screenplay and novel. As per yesterday, they sat on the sofa and prepared themselves, rehearsing whatever lines they had to recite for the scene. Somehow Ichigo's mind was trapped in a place faraway from Autumn Chrysalis, in god knows where. He knew he shouldn't be playing detective now, but he couldn't stop the questions from plummeting his skull.

"Hey Quiqui," he began.

Ulquiorra did a considerable job of omitting the second word. "We should commence now."

"No wait. Just hang on a second. I'm thinking about something."

"About how you are going to be removed from the movie?"

"No, not that. I'm here to stay, can't you see? I won't let your efforts go to waste," Ichigo smirked. "Anyway, let's set aside the movie for now, and focus on something closer to home."

"What else can you possibly think about?"

Ichigo shushed him. "It's about my pal and your madcap cousin with the pointy comb."

The green eyed man looked at him with great disinterest. "We need to begin no-"

"Don't tell me you haven't wondered about their relationship? It's dubious, I'm telling you! Right from the start, everything's looking shady. Really shady. How did they even know each other? Did we ever introduce them to each other? A loud, resounding no! You don't give a shit about me, neither do I give a rat's ass about you."

Ulquiorra glared at him. "What is your point?"

"Something in the milk ain't clean. I know Renji loves to have fun, but I don't suppose it's that kind of fun. It's kinda lewd, if you catch my drift."

Ulquiorra recalled seeing the two drunk men together in a club, caught in a very compromising position. He was pretty sure those red sores he saw on Renji's chest were inflicted by his cousin. They were fresh and even had traces of dribble around them.

"It was a meeting of coincidences," he said.

"Coincidence my foot - which brings to mind, why did you put them up together in a motel room? And on a single bed too! You're just as suspicious. What's your ulterior motive?"

"It was a king size bed."

Ichigo gave him a reproachful look. "What if...you know. Something could have happened! Maybe it had already happened and then there was an encore! Maybe it had already happened long ago and they were doing a repeat, and back in the room, they did a second telecast. Damn that rotten pineapple. How could he not inform me something of such grave significance? To think we are buddies from school and he's accusing me of doing the dirty deed with you while he gets away scot-free? Over my dead body. And what did I just say-doing the dirty deed with you?" He broke off with an abrupt, flustered laugh. "Double the rage-OK stop me now. My imagination is running away with me again."

Ulquiorra found his co-star's sudden outburst particularly amusing, and said nothing. He knew the carrot top would ramble on with or without intervention, so he chose to sit back and enjoy the spectacle, if only for a short while.

"They were already in that state," Ichigo continued. "I won't be thrown off my rocker if anything were to happen. Anyway, that pineapple doesn't seem to remember a single thing. Maybe he's lying, that sly ass. Whatever. I don't need information from him. I can always sniff it out on my own. OK, OK. I'll quit now. Over to you. Any scoop?"

"Why don't you call them up one by one and interrogate them? I wasn't in the room with them, so naturally I would not know. Neither would I ever wish I did. Besides, I can't see what my eyes can't see, and certainly I don't possess the time and energy to plant CCTVs and check on their nocturnal activities."

"Well...it sort of slipped my mind. Those rumors about us...uh...doing that sort of t-thing are still rampant. I mean, those stuffs are hella annoying! Can't even block them out with the world's best earplugs. They just keep coming back at you like boomerangs. And there's the movie of course! Yeah, the movie. I get all exhausted thinking about dear old Autumn Chrysalis."

A pause on Ulquiorra's side. Slowly, he curled an arm around the younger man's waist, reeling him in. "Are you bothered by it?"

"By what?"

"What you have seen, read and heard, and what I have not."

"A-Am I?" Ichigo chuckled in tones drenched with apprehension. "I was just speculating. It gets pretty boring sometimes, you know. The movie, the movie, and the movie. But don't get me wrong. I'm not skiving. Just letting off some steam, and showing some concern for my pal and extended concern for that crazy tool."

Ulquiorra casually ran his fingers along Ichigo's forearms, feeling each tendon buried beneath the faintly beige-brown skin. It was rather odd, touching him like that, and yet all the more assuring it felt. Much like that particular moment in time whereby rationality and self-preservation were flushed down the sewage pipes, and spontaneity became the order of the day.

"I see. That steam comes across as gossiping like a housewife?" he half-probed.

The carrot top clucked his tongue in displeasure. "Seriously man, don't you ever wonder about your cousin's sexual orientation? He's your family for chrissake. It has to bother you at some point. That said, if I ever see my sisters behaving like that, I'd go ballistic and shake out every tiny little detail from them! Not that they would. Just saying," he said with a shrug.

"Precisely it's because he is family that I do not dig too deep into his personal affairs."

"So, does that mean you are not against the idea of two men together? Or are you just saying this because he's family and essentially you don't give much of a damn? It can't be because you're sparing a thought for the poor guy's feelings, right?" Ichigo asked, shutting his eyes and letting Ulquiorra's smooth, waxen hands shoot up to unbutton his salmon pink shirt. Cool fingers trailed down every naked space parted by the shirt. _So this is how it feels to be undressed by him-shit. Concentrate!_ he scolded himself.

Ulquiorra gave a slight shake of his head. "I do no such thing. My relationship with Grimmjow has nothing to do with what I think of men, women, and their own sexual preferences. Adding to that, none of them are within my control."

Ichigo could feel Ulquiorra's breath on his neck as he spoke. Wisps of air skated across his skin, creating goosebumps. Hairs stood pertly on their ends. His shirt came off the second it was tugged. It slid off his shoulders and fell into a heap at his elbows, revealing his upper body. He shivered when his co-star kissed the crook of his neck. The kiss bore the gentle love Takamatsu had for his friend, ephemeral as a chrysalis in autumn, unmoving yet waiting to burst with life. It left him enthralled, and somewhere deep inside a force tugged at him. Ichigo willed himself to remember this sensation and the emotions breaking through. Emotions that, to his reluctant surprise, he had never quite felt before. He dug his fingers deep into both sides of the sofa, struggling to hold on in this sea of nebula. Curtains billowed restlessly in the wake, stung by the evening breeze. Why did he want more of these? Outside the skies painted a delectable palette of orange and crimson. Ulquiorra kissed his left shoulder and pulled the sleeves down to his wrists, then off of him entirely. The blood coursing through his veins began to feel bizarrely thick and heavy. Birds flitted across the horizon, heading southwards to where the climate was warmer. Not daring to move even an inch, Ichigo could only hold his head high as Ulquiorra briefly rested against him.

"You really don't think it's anything...how should I put it...questionable?" the younger man asked. His arms reached around Ulquiorra, encircling him and indirectly drawing him into an embrace. It seemed like the most natural activity in the world to do, and he couldn't deny the fact that he himself, or the he as his character _actually_ wanted to.

Ulquiorra raised his head and sat up a bit. Light on his face shifted in dizzying angles. "Do you know that when the world was created, Man was originally divided into three genders? Man/man, woman/man, woman/woman. One of the three genders eventually died out, but that was how it began. They had a single head for two faces on each opposite side, and two sets of genitals, and so on. They moved in an upright position, but because of their additional limbs, they gained an advantage over the men of today when it came to running. They had eight, and wheeled themselves over and over like acrobats performing circular maneuvers. Man possessed terrifying powers, and knowing so, they challenged the gods one day. They were punished as a result."

"Did they die?"

"The gods' purpose wasn't to kill them, but to weaken their powers. It was unanimously decided that each and every one of the human race was split into halves. To prevent them from dying, their features were adjusted to the front and sewn together like this." Ulquiorra brought his fingertips from the back of Ichigo's waist to his navel in a straight, unbroken line. "From then on, each half has been running about in search for its other half, longing to throw its arms around each other in an embrace, and to be reintegrated to heal its split in their nature."

"Doesn't this sound a little familiar? I think I've read it somewhere before too, when I was in high school. If I'm not wrong, it was Aristophanes who said this," Ichigo said. Unbeknownst to him, his hands, previously around his co-star's body, was ready to lift up his white tee. His fingers rested teasingly between the hem and Ulquiorra's rock-hard abdomen.

"Yes. Aristophanes, according to Plato, came up with this theory when engaged in a discourse on love."

Ichigo took off Ulquiorra's top and flung it over his own shirt. "Honestly, why would you read such a book when what should be beating here" - he jabbed a finger at Ulquiorra's chest - "is pretty barren?"

"If not for my heart I would not be here now."

"Another one of your intellectual pursuits, Quiqui. Don't you ever do something...normal? You probably think you're too superior for normalcy? Get real."

"Reading is hardly an obscure hobby."

"Aside from Kendo and reading deep books and chatting to Sakana-chan, you can always try to dance up a storm in a local club - like you-know-who and another you-know-who. Or get a girlfriend before you turn as wrinkly as a prune? You're halfway there already. Hey-what's that?" Ichigo wrinkled his nose in Ulquiorra's direction. "Do I smell an odor that only sour corpses emit?"

"You are ruining this."

"I think I'm being helpful," Ichigo rebutted.

"The extent of your delusions is the only trait about you that remains remotely interesting."

"Actually, do you even go dating? Say, go to the movies, eat popcorn, stuff like that. Go up on the ferris wheel. Have dinner in a fancy restaurant. Spray expensive cologne to make yourself smell like roses and wine. Have you ever done any of those?"

"Whom I have personal associations with hardly concerns you."

"Only a fool would buy your words, Ulquiorra _bloody_ Schiffer."

"The truth is not for you to peruse."

"I remember your mom mentioned a girl whom you met in school and exposed you to acting?" Ichigo blissfully bantered on, refusing to give up. "Come on. Look at where you are now! She was the one who introduced you to this world, right? She definitely must mean something to you. She's something like...your genesis."

Ulquiorra said nothing. He lifted his fingers and clasped them firmly around the carrot top's wrist.

"Don't give me that poker face! I know how _good_ an actor you are, Quiqui. You can no longer hide anything from me."

A breezy rush of wind came on the back of silence. Golden curtains clapped more furiously than ever. In less than a blink of an eye Ichigo was pinned on his back - the air knocked out of him with a swoosh, his head sinking into the plushness of the sofa. He took in a deep whiff. There was the smell of freshly culled leather - the kind only brand new sofas emit, and the faint autumnal scent his co-star wore. Pink plumes propped up around him like mushrooms after a rainy morning. The wind momentarily died down. Ulquiorra's hair grazed his neck, and he brushed his fingers through those silky onyx locks, yet again marveling at the softness and at how futile a resistance he was putting up nowadays.

"Just how much did my mother reveal about me?" Ulquiorra asked.

Ichigo flipped him a nonchalant smirk - a smirk that almost reached his co-star's lips. "Enough to make you seem human."

Ulquiorra stared into the distance, his eyes murky with indecipherable flashes of light. Light that gravitated towards the younger man, and in his haste to chase after it he ended up closer to him than ever before.

"We should recite our lines now," he said.

"Jeez. I've been waiting forever to hear that."


	23. Inner Fireworks

It was the second Friday of the month, and that was when the bulk of gifts arrived at the talent agency. Depending on the artiste's popularity, the gifts could range from a small box to several sacks. They usually came from the devoted supporters, designer brands seeking to borrow more exposure, and authorized merchandise from the projects they worked on. Renji stashed three bulging cartons into the backseat of his red Wrangler Unlimited, another one strapped to the passenger seat, and two more in the car boot. It was a bumpy ride to his friend's house, and the redhead wasn't too pleased when he unlatched the boot only to see items pouring freely from the boxes. Spewing an arsenal of curses and vulgarisms he lugged them into the Kurosakis' house and upstairs into the room.

"Santa's here," Renji announced as he brushed past Ichigo and set the boxes down. "You're a total pain in the ass, just in case I have not told you today," he brusquely added.

"And your hair's the wrong shade of red, doofus," Ichigo shot back. He looked into the boxes, rummaged through them and to his greatest surprise found something he could at last not feel nauseous gazing at. It was an out of production polaroid camera, designed to look like a toy with its cartoonish mix of bright colors. He beamed brightly as he cradled it in his palm.

"Finally saw something you like?" Renji asked.

"More along the lines of something I can put to good use."

"Like what? A Polaroid camera screams high school, and high school girls at that."

The actor gave a mysterious smile. "I have other plans."

"Don't tell me." Renji shuddered in mock terror. "If you're taking the camera, then what about the rest? Left to die in your storeroom with your army of vacuum cleaners?"

"I'll bring these over to my sisters' room later. Maybe they will find something they like. For example, this." He gingerly held up a teddy bear by its ribboned ear. "Or this." He picked a tight-fitting football jersey, obviously for a female, from the box. Renji made an odd noise in reply.

"What's that?" Ichigo demanded.

"The sound of you breaking your fans' hearts."

Ichigo put on a condescending grin. "Compared to my lovely co-star I'm practically a _saint_." He placed the camera on his bed, stood up and walked over to the other side of the room.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer?"

The actor opened his closet, and without thinking, picked a grungy rock band tee and a pair of faded jeans. "Who else but him," he said. "I'm going to take a shower now. Don't mess up my room, OK?"

Once Ichigo was completely out of sight, Renji plowed through the box nearest to him. The items he scoured never failed to tickle his funny bones. He found a Malibu Ken doll with an accompanying red Corvette, some LPs from famous bands in the 60s and 70s, autographed photos of themselves (the fans) with suggestive messages inscribed behind them, a bottle of Cutty Sark, racy lingerie, and a set of character based plush dolls, courtesy of Soul Pictures movie studio. They were almost identical to the ones Ulquiorra and Ichigo had destroyed in the midst of their tiff. He remembered how Soi Fon had gripped the two damaged plush dolls and stormed down the hallway before barking down the phone at some random guy. Since then they were remade with being the target of a tug-of-war in mind.

Renji took the two plush dolls out and propped them up on the bed. He grasped the miniature Ichigo lookalike doll with his right hand, and held Ulquiorra's fictitious, tiny counterpart with his left, and made them hobble towards each other across the bed.

"Hey pasty faced jerk!" The redhead put on his best Ichigo impersonation, then switched on the dour tone Ulquiorra often employed. "Talentless imbecile."

"You make me want to punch you silly!" Renji pushed the Ichigo doll towards the green eyed doll, and used the felt hands to give the latter some slaps.

"You are a hopeless dolt. I can glare you to smithereens."

"Oh yeah? I am sooo scared. So scared that I'm gonna launch a torpedo kick at you! Yee-hah! Take this!" With the help of Renji, the Ichigo doll flew towards the other plush doll, tackling it to the ground. "Whoopee doo! I got you! Now you can't move! A-ha!"

"Says who?" The Ulquiorra doll refused to give up, and used its pudgy little fists to pound the orange haired doll. "Let me go. Let me go-" Renji twisted the chubby neck left, then right. "-we are on a bed."

"I hate you!"

"Me too. Let me go." The Ulquiorra plush doll struggled to get up but failed. "Let me go. Let me go!" he cried.

"I hate you so much!"

"I hate you more than you could ever imagine."

"I hate you way more than I could ever imagine in your imagination!"

"I hate you so much that I love you."

"Me too!" the Ichigo doll squealed.

In devilish delight Renji pressed the dolls' oversized heads together, squashing their pink felt lips together in an animated, over the top kiss, their stubby arms wrapped across each other's necks. His snickering grew louder and louder. Laughed as though it was the funniest joke in the world when suddenly he pulled back and realized what he was doing. He paused to survey his surroundings with caution, only to have his paranoia get the better of him. No one was at the door. He turned back to the dolls and smashed their faces together again. Somehow he could imagine them - not the dolls but the real living and breathing humans - do exactly the same. The same way of greeting they had for each other, the same reactions and jibes, and probably, the same unforeseeable declaration of love, and as all things went, it definitely must end well. But it quite went the other way when Ichigo emerged from his bathroom with a towel in hand, only to find his best friend in a most puzzling state of mind.

"Do you need therapy?"

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon Ichigo headed over to his co-star's place with an overnight duffle. It was stuffed with two sets of clothes and clean underwear, his toothbrush and a towel. His script was rolled up and chucked into the space between handle and bag. He packed his newfound toy into the outer compartment and zipped it up. He was sure he would have plenty of fun with it, or if he got lucky, material for some cheeky blackmail. Straddling the duffle over his left shoulder, he scribbled a note - _Folks, I won't be home tonight_ \- and pinned it against the fridge, and drove off in his silver Impreza.

 

* * *

 

"Yo," Ichigo greeted as he came through the door. As usual he was given the silent treatment. He put his bag down by a corner and walked over to the balcony. The corners of his mouth quavered when he saw what his co-star was doing. "I never imagine I would live to see this!" he exclaimed. "You, doing your own laundry! How many gallons of water did you use up? Did the washing machine break down in the meanwhile? I know of a decent furniture store down Roppongi Hills."

Ulquiorra noticed Ichigo's bag was larger and bulkier than usual when he entered the house. It looked like it was made to pack for a short weekend getaway. That was none of his business, he thought, his co-star could go anywhere he wanted. A quick vacation before filming regained next Monday made sense. But with who? Ulquiorra shook his head inwardly. That was really none of his business. As long as they finished what had to be done today, his work was complete.

"It is quite unsurprising that you would make a mountain out of a molehill," he said.

"Fascinating stuff. I'm glad I brought along a special item. And ha - am I even more glad that I made the unceremonious decision to stay over for the night!"

"Stay over for the night?" Ulquiorra echoed.

"Yeah, like it or not. I'm having an impromptu sleepover at your place tonight."

" _Sleepover?_ "

Ichigo folded his arms across his chest. "I don't care what you think, what you think I'm thinking, or what I think you're thinking. Can't I decide what to do what and when to do what for once?"

"Aren't you supposed to embark on a holiday with that woman?" Ulquiorra asked, his words edged with a conscious effort to remain impassive.

Taken aback by the sudden question, Ichigo didn't know what to say, or how should he react. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, only to pull them out a second after. "W-Woman? Holiday?! Either you've gone mad from washing clothes or had your brains fried out from standing under the sun!"

Ulquiorra fished a wet shirt from the basin, wrung it dry, watched the water seep into the drainage by the side, and pegged the shirt to the clothesline. He retrieved a pair of chinos and went through another cycle, his actions slow and deliberate.

Ichigo coughed mildly, ridding himself off of the honest stumble he had ventured. "Standing in an area where the sun's rays can reach you is obviously doing wonders for you!" he said in a clear, loud voice.

The green eyed actor finished off the last of the pile, pegged it, and gave the dripping clothes a final rinse. Then he stepped away from the clothesline and scanned the precinct, as if acknowledging an efficient task done.

"Want to know why I'm staying over?" Ichigo asked. Hands on his hips, a cocky stance, and in a tone unnervingly teasing at first before growing fiery with determination, he said, "Because I'm all set to fight it out come Monday. Come on, it's only two and a half days away. I can't let something called 'night' take away what's left of the time we have for practice."

"We have more or less accomplished what we have set out to do," Ulquiorra replied, his eyes fixed on a point far beyond his co-star.

"Now, now. Don't look so grumpy." Ichigo whipped out the Polaroid camera from his bag and positioned it before his right eye. "Look what I've got here!"

Ulquiorra twisted his neck to the right and looked at the camera. "An electronic contraption that takes pictures instantly. As its name implies, it is highly favored by individuals who seek instant gratification."

"Bravo - minus the needless snipe. Know what this means? I'm sure it won't take you more than a second to have it figured out." A mischievous twinkle entered those hazel orbs. "Say cheese!"

Ulquiorra's lips remained tightly sewn together, refusing to emit even the tiniest slant. "Ludicrous."

"Spoilsport. Sakana-chan is dying to have her photo taken with me. After this it will be my sofa bed and I. Won't you do the honors, sad clown face?"

"I see no validation in your request."

"I need to use up the 35 shots."

"I trust you cannot do any worse than this."

Ichigo put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. As if on cue, the ginger kitty sashayed over from where she lay - on the coffee table, to her owner's feet. She purred softly, then gave his ankles a delicate lick. In the spur of the moment Ulquiorra lowered himself to the ground and scratched the cat lightly between the ears. The cat purred again just as a white beam of light blared in their faces. And another.

"Take One - OK! Take Two - Good! An annoying sheet of flour doing the laundry with his adorable little cat," Ichigo chuckled from behind his Polaroid camera. "What a decent spill this is proving to be. These are going into my scrapbook!"

Ulquiorra remained where he stood, immobile as a rock. "Do not expect me to chase you around the house for something as trivial as this," he chastised.

"Good!" Ichigo grinned cockily. "I wouldn't bet against that."

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't seem to tire of his Polaroid camera. He took it with him wherever he went, openly snapping away at the house, at the luxurious sofa bed he had bought, at Sakana who willingly posed for him, and at times sneaking in a shot or two of his co-star. He didn't know if Ulquiorra caught him in the act but let it slip by without a mention. The man was as unreadable as a sphinx. Regardless, he felt that those were well-taken pictures. True that he was an amateur, but his co-star had a face meant to headline epic dramas and black and white photo shoots. At the right angles, it looked like a readily made movie poster. Ulquiorra hardly wore any expressions other than slight sorrow or emptiness, and Ichigo thought that funny yet fascinating, melancholic yet puzzling. He wondered if he looked like this since he was young, or had something affected him so profoundly that he stopped smiling, only to crack a scarce curve when the joy was immense. Ichigo knew he could be too sensitive here - Ulquiorra's mother was equally muted about the passing on of Mr Schiffer.

On a more jovial note, Ichigo thought as he studied one of the photos, maybe Ulquiorra doesn't realize he has this face on all the time and needs a gentle albeit crude reminder that the world is still running amok with happiness, if he knows where to find it.

Hours later they stopped for a short break. Ichigo went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of iced lemonade. His Polaroid was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Throat's running dry," said Ichigo. He downed his glass in one shot and looked hungrily at the second glass.

Instinctively Ulquiorra wrapped his fingers around the glass. "I believe this is for me."

"Right, lazy ass. Go get it yourself."

"You took the ice cubes from my freezer. You took the lemonade from my fridge. The glasses belong to the top shelf above the sink."

Ichigo shrugged and chugged the leftover ice cubes into his mouth, crunching them loudly like an ice-making machine. When he was done with his drink, he brandished the camera from his pocket like a precious jeweled knife and waved it before Ulquiorra.

"Caption time!" he grinned. "Who's first? Me, you - the petty crook, the sofa bed or Sakana-chan?"

"Our break is over."

"Cheese!" Ichigo yelled as his forefinger tapped the 'Shoot' button. He lowered the camera and waited eagerly for the Polaroid shot to be processed. The mechanical gurgling and spitting was followed by a smooth, almost buttery flow of the printed photo. It bore a faint warmth. Ichigo held the picture aloft and shook his head.

"You blinked," he accused.

Ulquiorra glanced at the Polaroid shot. It was one of those horrific photographs which most celebrities or people of reputable standing avoided. Eyes half closed with a hint of redeye, mouth barely ajar and nose twisted in the air, as if straining to choke out words from the diaphragm.

"Great. Thank god you blinked, Quiqui." Ichigo heaved a sigh of relief. "I was just beginning to think that you don't ever blink. Whenever I look at you - don't get me wrong. I'm not interested in you at all, or just happen to look in your direction, your eyes will be flat-out large like saucers, staring into something or at something. Like you have these huge balls of energy waiting to be directed at them, waiting to blast them to pieces. But then you chose to blink! Like a lamp shutting off after a long night. Like the stars in the skies dying and becoming dwarves. Like the-"

"Kurosaki Ichigo, you talk too much."

"Come on. It's just one photo!" Ichigo urged.

"I do not want to be seen in the same frame as you. Imbecility is infectious."

"I'm warning you - quit insulting me! Who do you think you are anyway?"

"Someone who clearly knows more than you."

"Whatever. Come on, it'll take only one second!"

"No."

"You're going to rue this day!"

"If I oblige I will."

"One day when you've fallen off your perch and reminiscing about those good old days by a torn and tattered straw house on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean," Ichigo fumed, "when you flip open the papers and see me holding an Oscar statuette in my hands, you will think, 'Damn why did I reject his offer for a picture back then? It can easily fetch thousands of dollars and I can at last hire a boat and go home!'. That is going to happen!"

The older actor gave him a bewildered stare, but behind the stare hid a sprinkling of mirth. "I would not be wrong if I were to suggest you quit the movie industry now and head over to Malta."

"Why Malta?"

"I hear they have bountiful sources of spiritual water. That might just be what you need to enhance your newfound clairvoyance abilities, and at last, embark on a career suited to you."

"Shut up!" Ichigo scowled. "All I ask for is just one miserable photo. _One miserable photo!_ Something like a memento. Not of you, of course. But it's normal to have at least one shot of the living and moving things in the house you've been frequenting for the past three weeks."

After an hour, Ichigo's lack of tactful persuasion and grumbling finally paid dividends. He managed to have Ulquiorra pose together with him for not one shot, but a handful of them. It was originally meant to be just one, but the younger man had the guile and the agility to press the button several times in a row, resulting in a few similar shots taken in a flash. The only difference was the minuscule variation in expressions spread across their faces. Sakana sat between their ankles, her long striped tail up in the air and bent at the tip. The two men sat close together, their knees bunched up to save space, their shoulders touching. One of the photos showed an audacious Ichigo looping an arm around Ulquiorra's shoulders and grinning cheekily at the camera. The green eyed man seemed a little taken aback by his gesture, making Ichigo chuckle. The next couple of shots took forever to show up on the polaroid film, so he fanned them to quicken the chemical process. Still, they took longer than usual to develop.

Strange, Ichigo thought, maybe the film isn't working properly?

Sitting in a lotus position on the floor, he laid out the Polaroid shots before him, taking his time to arrange and re-arrange the pictures while Ulquiorra was bathing upstairs. He scooped some up into his hands and carefully placed them in his bag. Those were the photos which could be misleading to either man - ones he took without his co-star's knowledge. As of then, Ichigo couldn't make up whether it was the intention or the product of the intention that was hounding him. He should stop fretting over it too.

The photos won't run away, Ichigo told himself, I can look them over when I have the time.

Besides, he was going to stay over at Ulquiorra's place tonight. On his own volition, too. It was best for all confusion to dissipate, or at least, go into hiding for the time being. He stood up, stepped over the photos and headed for the washroom behind the kitchen. When he emerged from the washroom, Ulquiorra was already in the kitchen, fixing a dish of cat food for his pet. He brushed past him wordlessly and returned to his spot on the floor. Although all Polaroid shots were now properly developed, there was something amiss. That Ichigo realized as soon as he gave the items a once over. The order in which the photos was laid out suffered no change but he prided on his instinct. He stubbornly scrutinized every single aspect, as though engaged in a game of Memory, and at last, he found the answer.

"There are supposed to be 17 photos here!" Ichigo exclaimed. "Now there are 16! What happened to the difference?" He narrowed his eyes at the photos. "Did you take it?"

"Doesn't surprise me that you cannot count," came Ulquiorra's answer from the kitchen. "Has it ever occurred to you that your initial tabulation was erroneous?"

Ichigo directed his frown at the kitchen. "It must be you! You were already here when I was in the loo. You saw the photos and hid the ugliest shot of yourself. Why didn't you take everything instead? Every shot of you looks equally crummy."

"You ought to visit Malta and stay there for ever."

 

* * *

 

At night after they had Ichigo's home-cooked spaghetti with meatballs together at the table, Ulquiorra switched on the TV. They sat next to each other on the sofa bed, Ulquiorra prim and proper with his back straight, Ichigo half slouching, legs fully stretched out, his face propped by one hand. A cushion was in his other hand.

"What's on tonight? J-League? Baseball? NBA?" he asked in a bored, drowsy voice.

"I do not follow sports."

"Then what? There's hardly anything on Friday nights. Cooking shows? You into them?" Ichigo hid a guffaw.

"There is a movie on one of the foreign cable channels," said Ulquiorra. He pressed some buttons on the remote control and the TV screen turned dark with foreboding music booming in the background.

"What's this?" Ichigo asked. Lightning emblazoned in the skies of the cinematic world. Soon after they were shown a shady looking motel in a suburban area. Raindrops pelted heavily on the monochromatic landscape. A car zipped across the highway at a frenetic pace. They could hear gales screeching through the bleak town and thick into the veins of characters yet to appear.

"Identity."

"Identity?"

"A movie."

"Any fool can see that coming from ten miles out. But who's in it and-" Ichigo was cut off with an icy glare from his co-star. The characters - a man and a woman with a fur wrap around her shoulders, had begun to speak. It was in English and there were Japanese subtitles running parallel to the base of the screen. "The subs are too tiny to be seen," he pointed out. "Why aren't you setting it to the Japanese dub? Unless you can understand English..." his eyebrow quirked upwards in disbelief.

"Yes, I can," Ulquiorra said.

"Oh," Ichigo replied. "Guess I will have to make do with reading their faces."

They watched in bated breath as the movie's events unfolded before them. One by one the characters were picked off, throwing the two men into a heady mix of mystery and suspense. The original English audio did nothing to deter Ichigo's determination to get his guess right. He had to squint hard at the subtitles to make some headway though. Some time during the movie he felt he was getting a little cross-eyed - his vision seemed to be tunneling into a singular focal point and elsewhere white spots danced around. Whereas Ulquiorra maintained his stoic position throughout, Ichigo sank deeper and deeper into the sofa bed, the cushion snuggled tightly against his chest. If it were any other movie he swore he could have fallen asleep. But this had him tossed left and right and centre with every twist. He rearranged his suspicions three times and each time he was proven wrong he yelled "No you've got the wrong guy! He's the killer, not victim!", much to Ulquiorra's annoyance.

"So, who's killing them?" the younger actor asked excitedly. When he got excited his voice naturally grew louder. "We are down to just four!"

Ulquiorra threw him a sideward glance, as if saying, "Will you keep your volume down?".

"I think it's the chauffeur!" Ichigo continued to chirp. "He's just everywhere. It must be him."

"If you had the slightest clue on the underlying themes of the movie you wouldn't be asking that. It should be a central question of which personalities are destroyed to make way for the emergence of the dormant but dominant personality."

"Are you giving me spoilers?" Ichigo retorted, obviously unimpressed. "They must have said something in English which I can't get and now you want to rub that in my face. Big deal. I'm way above that."

"No respectable suspense thriller gives away the perpetrator before the movie ends."

"I bet you've seen this before! Umpteen times!"

Ulquiorra remained unmoved. "More often than not my analyses are proven correct. We shall see."

 

* * *

 

The credits rolled on with the theme song playing in the background. Then it was replaced with the family-friendly Spiderman 2. Neither man were interested in it. They were far too preoccupied with their guesses going awry, their minds wrapped around it like a maze, refusing to let go of the fact that they had lost to the scriptwriter's wits. Ichigo breathed in, then breathed out, telling himself it was only a movie. No point getting all worked up about being right or wrong. Sometimes he was too absorbed to wean himself off the movie, and this was one of the times. Ulquiorra wasn't as forgiving of his mistake. He held a mug to his lips and stayed still. The hot chocolate was on the verge of tipping over.

"Watch the mug," Ichigo cautioned.

Ulquiorra snapped into action and set the mug back on the coffee table without drinking from it.

"Face it, you were wrong," the carrot top continued. "So much for your 'more often than not' line. You really can't speak too soon, can you? Talk about securing a victory before the battle has begun! Such a _fine_ textbook example you are, _Quiqui_."

"At least she was the last to be killed, and I made only one guess and stuck to it. The same can't be said of you."

"My answer wasn't too far off either," Ichigo responded in an attempt to save his embattered pride. "Besides, who would have known that the main identity is actually a murderous little prat? We are all fooled by that explosion! Yes, including _you_ ," he mocked.

Ulquiorra clasped and unclasped his fingers on his lap. His fingernails were back to their normal color. No more black polish, at least for the time being.

"Your sense of humor continues to elude me."

"Till now the flashbacks of how he singlehandedly murdered the other identities send some shivers down my back." Ichigo made a face. "I will never look at a kid the same way again. Would you? All cute outside but inside they are devious little humans."

"Everyone is bound to possess at least two identities within themselves. Most tend to overlap with each other, thus having a core personality and a slightly wider variation of characteristics the core could take up, depending on the circumstances. The real issue arises only when the personalities are too distinct from each other or, on a more severe basis, one another. On a subconscious level they will vie to become the dominant identity, and usually in the midst of it all, people around the affected would not know which is slated to surface, when and where."

"Like the dude in the movie," Ichigo said, nodding.

Ulquiorra nodded and took a sip of his hot chocolate. "The doctor's experiment to draw out all personalities lurking in his mind is worth a further look."

"In this case, wouldn't actors be most susceptible to this kind of disorder? One minute you are someone else another minute you are back to being yourself. And along the way won't you get mixed up and you become your character at home and your character becomes you on the set?"

"Acting is never easy."

"Wow. Professor Schiffer in 'Stating The Obvious' shocker," Ichigo said with dripping sarcasm. "Anyway, now that we're onto this, I've been wondering about it myself too. When someone takes on another character and then sheds it off, would a piece of the fake personality linger on him? I'm not referring to crappy teen actors. I'm talking about serious actors who go through the whole method acting business."

"For the sake of art. Their bodies are but a heightened form of expression."

"Sometimes it goes too far without them knowing, isn't it? Tons of stories floating out there about so and so actor and actress being too deeply immersed in their roles that they resort to substance abuse and the bad stuff. They usually end up in the morgue and remembered for all the wrong reasons." Ichigo seemingly frowned at himself at the subtle descent into morbidity. "Hey, hold on. We're supposed to watch Spidey now, aren't we!" He threw his co-star a dirty look. "It's Friday night and I don't know about you, but I'm a regular guy and I just want to chill."

Ulquiorra disregarded the TV entirely and shifted himself on the sofa to better look Ichigo in the eye.

"To me," he said. "The perfect actor courts not personal tragedy but complete indifference of his environment. One who blends in so well because his emotional state is blank to begin with. Only when you are truly impassive from the start that you have the tenacity to take on characters of a wide range. Due to this trait, you are able to step away from it at the end of the day and return home with your core intact. Because you are indifferent, you are resistant to change, your main identity is not in flux but static. You hold on tight to this core and throw on another skin for the next project. You do not have to worry about anything and let your character gain full access to your body. You understand very well that there is distance, an untouchable distance where you, your real self, can sit in a room and glance at who you can turn into through a glass window. Behind it lies a mirror bearing your warped reflection. It is you but not really you at the same time. The distance makes you feel safe. You understand that it is after all, a job."

Ichigo took a brief moment to contemplate his words before realizing Ulquiorra had his piercing gaze boring down on him all along. With a sharp inhalation of air he averted his glance, almost bashfully.

"Is that your recipe for acting? Detaching yourself from everything."

"I would say so."

"As usual I can't bring myself to agree with you."

"Since when have you and I concur on the same matter?"

Ichigo swung back from observing the intricacies of the sofa bed to his co-star. "Exactly," he cracked a small grin. "Quiqui, you're starting to know _me_ very well. And I, _you_."

"Suppose you belong to the emotional branch of thought."

"Why not? I believe acting should be relating to the audience. It doesn't go on and on in your head - which is what your approach is."

"It is all in the mind," Ulquiorra emphasized.

The younger man shook his head vigorously. "You've got to use your heart. True characters feel pain and joy and sorrow and emptiness. They feel real emotions and we, are supposed to display them. That I believe is what good acting is all about. We are playing humans in a realistic setting, not spaced out aliens wanting to dominate the world."

"Coming from someone whose only acting credentials is a vampire, I find it difficult to digest. Moreover an inferior stream of thought."

"Nobody's gonna force it down your throat, silly," Ichigo mumbled. "I believe in that, though. Yours may work for you, but mine is going to work for me. There's no inferiority complex going on here, OK?"

Ulquiorra gazed deeper into the younger man's warm depths before breaking contact. He felt if he were to look into them any longer, he would be inevitably pulled in. Sometime during their conversation the ginger cat had snuck onto the sofa and nestled there, content to stare at the TV. He gave his pet a few absentminded strokes, the other hand cupped around his mug.

"I can't really be much assed to argue with you tonight," Ichigo said, scratching the tip of his nose. "You can say anything you want, but so can I. At the end of the day what matters most is doing what you love, isn't it. If not, no amount of brain energy is going to make you or anyone else happy. In your case, going by how much you analyze your job, you must really love it."

"It is not too bad."

The carrot top tilted his head at his co-star, observing how nonchalant he always was. It made him mad. "Looking at you now, yeah, not too bad I'd say," he said. "You won an award last year, so of course, it is all within your grasp. Rest on your laurels while you can, pasty cool cucumber, because I daresay you won't be saying that after the movie's out next year."

"Are you inflating your ego by using me as a base?"

"I'm way above that, Quiqui. Don't be too sensitive. Acting is something I've grown to love, and I won't let it go that easily. As for all things I'm passionate about, I'll go all the way. No regrets."

The green eyed actor again felt his attention glued to Ichigo. There was something incredibly bewitching about the man when he spoke of those dearest to him.

"What makes you say so?" Ulquiorra couldn't help but ask.

"That's for another day. I kind of want to catch Spidey now."

 

* * *

 

When Kurosaki Ichigo opened his eyes it was already dawn. The skies outside were awash in a hazy spectrum of gold and navy blue. Curtains by the window fluttered lightly. He briefly glanced at his watch. 5.20am. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to remember what last happened before he hit the sheets. He couldn't recall walking upstairs to a vacant room and lying on the bed and dozing off to sleep. Maybe he did but his mind was foggy. His back was stiff and his vision was dominated by tiny white spots. He yawned and was about to stretch his arms and legs when he realized he couldn't move them. Too sleepy to bother, he rolled over on his sides and came face to face with a mass of black hair. Then he noticed where his limbs were - wrapped around a certain pale man, as if afraid that he would slip away into the night and never return.

Like a signal picking up cues from its surroundings, Ulquiorra stirred in his sleep. He shifted towards Ichigo, his arm carelessly strewn across the latter's waist. His face remained buried beneath raven locks, concealing any hints of sentiment he might have felt. As he moved, his white tee sloped to the left, revealing sharply defined collarbones. The rise and fall of his chest was more keenly observed this time. As he pressed against Ichigo, his heartbeat seemed to flow into him but the sound was muffled. The younger man closed his eyes. In the early hours of the morning he could hear their hearts thumping together. At first it was erratic and uneven - probably his, then it grew smoother and gradually a single, clear rhythm was formed. The beat danced along steadily, lulling him to sleep. In a faraway corner of his mind he could remember the unplanned kiss they shared that Friday night.

 _"And it has been a revelation,"_ Ulquiorra had said.

Ichigo opened his eyes and found himself imagining what it would be like to run his fingers through those choppy locks and across that waxen chest under the tee shirt. To plant his lips upon the other's obstinately pursed ones. Color came easily to his cheeks and he looked away, only to gaze hopelessly into an endless swathe of pink plumes.


	24. Driven by You

When Ulquiorra woke up in the morning he was hugging two cushions to his chest. Sakana sat at his feet, watching intently as he sat up and looked around before settling back into the comfort of the sofa bed. A cream colored slip was pulled up to his shoulders. Sunlight streamed into the living room through the curtains, casting a soft hue over the place. He took a deep breath, finding the texture somewhat different from what he was used to. It was denser, as though plumes had congregated into thick and heavy clouds. Something in the air was changing, and it seemed to be closing in with every turn.

Peering sideways at the vacant spot next to him, he couldn't resist extending a hand to touch it. He ran his fingers across the surface, taking in the remnants. It was impossible to tell if someone had lain there or was the sun heating up the place. Basking in the gentle warmth he continued to lay there, unmoving, thinking. He tried to remember when he last felt like this but he couldn't. Had he ever? He shook his head. Probably not. Resigned, he got off the sofa bed, folded the slip into two, and urged his cat to follow him upstairs.

 

* * *

 

At seven pm Ichigo marched off to the kitchen, filled two saucepans with water and set them on the stove. Whistling a tune from the early nineties he bustled from fridge to stove, then from stove to chopping board. He rinsed the vegetables under the tap and chopped them up neatly before putting them into the boiling water. Feeling the sharp pangs of hunger he quickly emptied two packets of instant ramen into the saucepans and cracked an egg into each bowl - just the way Ulquiorra liked, then poured in the piping hot contents. He wasn't used to being this occupied on Saturdays and found himself more worn out than ever, emotionally and physically.

"Cut me some slack, it's Saturday!" he had argued when Ulquiorra pushed a stack of movie dialogue to him right after they finished breakfast. "Nobody works on this day!"

"Saturday has no difference from Sunday or Monday or any other day. It's worth twenty-four hours. They all are. Can you tell me otherwise, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"It does," Ichigo insisted. "N-o-b-o-d-y bloody works on the weekend!"

"You can take every weekend off after this." Ulquiorra tossed him a condescending glare. "Because you will never have to work again."

"Why you nasty idiotic pasty-faced jerk…"

They spent the day squabbling over (and coolly refuting) whose ratings for so-and-so award winning thespians were most accurate, and which movies were most worth watching for the autumn season. The debate made way for some serious emotional control practice -- where Ulquiorra had repeatedly demanded that Ichigo portray with his face, his body the most heartbroken look he could muster by a snap of his fingers -- returned during dinner. Owing to their famished selves dinner was over in a couple of minutes and the two men helped themselves to some strawberries, fresh from Ichigo's duffel, before clearing the table.

"It's getting rather warm in here, don't you think?" Ichigo asked as he scrubbed the utensils.

Ulquiorra sat on the stool by the raised kitchen counter and watched the younger man wordlessly.

"It's like the seasons forgot to change or something, and we are now stuck in the shittiest part of summer." 

"We are in the middle of the autumn season," Ulquiorra said.

"That's why it's weird! We're supposed to feel all cool and lovely and not have the shirt sticking to the skin. Don't you feel the heat, Quiqui? Unless you're a packet of ice cubes. I think someone once said you are. I think it's me." 

Ulquiorra resisted the urge to sweep his fringe across his forehead. During the three weeks his hair had grown longer and his fringe was starting to poke at his eyes. From behind the uneven strands of hair he peered at Ichigo, his outline of him thorny and slightly obscured. The thin clouds of cherry pink skipping around didn't help either..

Ichigo used a soapy hand to fan himself. "Speaking of ice cubes, do you have any in your freezer?"

"Check the ice dispenser."

"Great. We have the ice. Now we need something really chilly. And I don't mean your words."

"Water will do."

"That's a crap idea."

"Water is more than enough."

The younger man rinsed off the last of the plates and set them to dry on the dish rack. "Just trying my luck here. I wonder if you have beer lying somewhere in your house?"

Ulquiorra rose from his stool and strode over to the bar fridge sandwiched between the electric stove and kitchen counter. He yanked the door open to reveal three pints of Ben and Jerry's rum and raisin and a Carlsberg six-pack.

"A nuisance left them here after a football match two months ago," he revealed.

"What do I know," Ichigo said with a knowing grin. "At least he doesn't drink odd stuff." He helped himself to two cans and tossed one at his co-star, who caught it expertly. Pressing one chilled can of beer to each cheek Ichigo revelled in the instant coolness. Even his palms were refreshingly cold now. Chilled beer was really the best way to top off an unexpectedly humid evening and there was no longer any need for ice cubes. That he said out loud. Welcoming the frosty respite, he opened one and guzzled it down before noticing that his co-star was just holding the can. 

"Hmm? You don't drink?" 

"Not really."

"Don't tell me you're a lightweight!" Ichigo snickered. "C'mon. The alcoholic content is just slightly over five percent! Even if you do get drunk, you're at home anyway."

Ulquiorra was about to set down the beer when Ichigo, still grinning, leaned in to place a cool hand on his cheek. The unexpected contact sent a jolt shooting down Ulquiorra's spine. He jerked a little from Ichigo's touch, leading the younger man to assume that the involuntary action was due to a Schiffer-style eccentric combination of regret at not heeding his beer-guzzling advice and astonishment at how chilly his hand was.

Mischief twinkled in the carrot top's eyes. "Drink up, Quiqui!"

 

* * *

 

Despite the beer they drank the night didn't get any less sweltering. Their clothes clung to them like a second skin they couldn't remove at any cost. Neither wanted to undress themselves before the other - the thought alone was simply unbecoming. They sat at the table and gulped down/sipped some more beer, each lost to the world.

"Umm…" Ichigo began, unsure of what to say. "It's getting warmer in here," he repeated, as if to qualify the understatement of the decade. His nape, ears and cheeks felt like they were on fire. He hated that, suffering from the stereotypical Asian blush whenever he downed a teensy amount of alcohol. It made him look like a gawky teen who just had his first taste of the sweet nectar.

Ulquiorra sat across from him with unblinking eyes. "Just a little."

They sat in silence for a while more. Ichigo noticed, perhaps with a tinge of envy, that Ulquiorra remained and even looked as disaffected as ever, his pale mien giving away absolutely nothing. Ichigo found himself wondering if Ulquiorra enjoyed the beer, or at least, enjoyed the company that came with the beer. He shook his head. The beer must be getting to him. So much for calling Ulquiorra a lightweight.

"I don't know about you," he said at last. "But I'm going down for a walk. My head's kind of strange now. Guess I need some fresh air."

The green eyed man leaped off his stool. "I would like some too."

Together they took the lift down and cut through a miniature bonsai garden to the swimming pool. The night was cool with gentle breezes fleeting by. Crickets chirped from behind manicured bushes. Leaves the color of gold and maroon crunched under their shoes and sometimes a stray twig would snap, startling nobody but them. Clouds broke up to reveal a half-moon shining down on the gently rippling surface. It followed them as they strolled along the poolside.

Ichigo inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs before letting them ooze out like a deflating balloon. Like the balloon the suffocating chasms in him wheezed all over the place. His head no longer felt weird and his respiratory system was working fine again. Ulquiorra walked beside him, his cheek still tingling slightly from earlier. 

A tiny smile struck across his lips, the younger man closed his eyes and tried to walk in a straight line, imagining himself to be a professional on a tightrope several meters above ground. Relying on the rest of his senses to strike a precarious balance.

He had imagined this before, when he was much younger and had visited the circus with his family for the first time. It was fun pretending to be an acrobat and rolling around like an eight-limbed creature or striding along raised beams at the playground. Now it gradually took on a greater implication, like a thick cloud phasing over his mind. What if he fell? He shook his head. What if he fell hard?

"I hope you are ready," Ulquiorra said to him.

The carrot top turned in his direction with his eyes still shut. "Ready or not I'm always up to it."

"Four weeks ago you said the same words. Three weeks ago you came to me for help."

"Seems like it was only yesterday that your mom popped by and spilled the beans on your wonderfully secret life before you became famous. I wonder what will the tabloids make of it if a little bird twitters it into the night," Ichigo said, slowly opening his eyes to see his companion illuminated in swathes of moonlight.  "Makes me wonder about something," Ichigo continued. A prankster's smirk spread like a disease across his face and he hid both hands behind his back. "Are you still afraid of the big bad water monster?"

"Do not make light of this matter and I never was afraid to begin with."

"Why do I find it so hard to believe you, Quiqui?" the younger actor narrowed his eyes evilly before shoving Ulquiorra into the pool with all his might.

Caught by surprise, Ulquiorra Schiffer flailed about in the pool for a while before using his feet to paddle. Not too fast like he was blazing through laps, but sufficient to keep himself adrift and conserve energy at the same time. The iciness stung his toes but didn't cause numbness. If anything else it rejuvenated him; it made everything extra vibrant to him. He needed to plot revenge, or at least his adrenaline-fueled brain demanded that he do it. Coughing out chlorinated water, he stared hard at the lone figure by the poolside, pointing and guffawing. Unfortunately Ulquiorra still couldn't swim, and there was nothing more he would like than to viciously trip Ichigo and send him splashing into the pool like the born loser he was.

Ichigo needed no trip; he took matters into his own hands. With a loud whoop he ran to the side of the pool and dived headlong into it, like an ecstatic seal longing to rejoin its herd in the ocean. The sudden turbulence rocked Ulquiorra's balance and in his frenzy to hang on, he thrashed about wildly until he hit something solid and warm. A familiar sensation temporarily flooded his senses.

"No big bad water monster here," Ichigo laughed as he held onto his co-star, his breath hot on the other's cheek. "Only me."

Ulquiorra glared at him with as much venom as he could muster. But he couldn't. What came through was a slightly teary expression brought on by chlorine.

"That was uncalled for," he said.

"Don't cry, Quiqui."

"I am not and I do not."

"OK, OK. I won't do that again." The carrot top snickered to himself. "Or maybe not." He was met with an irritated nudge in his ribs. "Don't injure me! Anyhow, much as you hate it, it was worth that look of horror on your face. You should have seen it! Top stuff. Easily the best expression you've had since I first met you."

With him tugging at Ulquiorra's arm, they swam to the side where they then climbed out of the pool and lazed under nocturne skies in their soaked attire. The older man was heaving slightly. Vast amounts of water were never kind to him and he felt almost embarrassed for being exposed in the most vulnerable manner since he was eight. From start to end he could feel Ichigo's brown gaze on him, unwavering yet soft, dissecting every fibre of his being. As though it had a life of its own, that indecipherable brown gaze came closer and closer until it breathed down on him. Then, inches short of touching him, it stopped and blinked.

Or was Ulquiorra himself blinking? 

"If every blink of the eye equals a year, I swear you'd have become an old man now," said Ichigo.

With eyes jetting between open and close, Ulquiorra could feel warm vents of air rustling his cheek. The sensation was oddly familiar; he was pretty certain something similar had happened not too long ago. But when? He tried to think harder but all his memory could draw was a startling blank.

"Is there something in your eye?" asked Ichigo in a concerned voice. "You've been blinking non-stop."

"I am fine."

"That's a relief." Ichigo sounded truly relieved. "I was still worrying whether to blow the dust speckle out of your eye or leave you to twitch in agony. Decisions."

"I trust you would do something utterly befitting of your lack of intelligence."

"Seems like someone has gotten his bearing back, eh?"

"It was nothing."

"Yeah, sure. Remind me to bring along a video recorder the next time we get near a pool."

"No."

"Why? I'm already thinking of getting a high-definition type."

"No need to."

"Why!"

"There won't be a next time."

"You're inhuman."

"Perhaps," said Ulquiorra, and retreated into his shell of silence. One shared between them as they lounged casually by the pool in their soaked clothes.

"Do you always say what's on your mind?" he asked after a lengthy pause.

"Usually. Sometimes I'm joking, of course. And then, when I really mean it, I really really mean it."

"How do you look like when you really mean the words you say?"

"Like any normal human being."

"Our definitions of 'normal' could well lie on opposite planes."

"It's tough talking to you-there, I mean what I said."

"It doesn't help if you are capable of turning everything against you."

"And it doesn't help if I have a water-fearing pasty pancake sniping at my every syllable whenever he can."

"This is about you. Leave me out of it."

Ichigo chortled as he propped himself up. "Enough about me. I appreciate your interest and I think it's best I reciprocate it."

"You are evading my question."

"To answer a question with another question," the younger actor said, "do you mean every word you say then. Since you seem so bloody serious and down all the time. Surely you must mean them!" 

"I say what I say for a purpose. It may be the truth. It may be something constructed to fool you."

"Ah-suppose deep down, you're a really happy guy."

Ulquiorra was as usual, inscrutable. "Happy?"

"Don't make it sound like an alien word."

"Why do you think I could be really happy?"

"Because you look like the saddest guy on earth at any point in time. And then sometimes you look like you just don't feel anything at all."

 "Can you trust a man who chooses acting as his profession?"

Ichigo ignored him and went on. "And your next question to me would be something plucked straight from the spectrum of human emotions."

"Why do you say that?"

 "It just sounds like something you'd ask when you're drunk and you don't know it."

 "Oh. So I am now supposedly drunk and I don't know it." A moment's pause. "What do you suppose is on my mind now?"

Ichigo needed no second invitation to take a good look at Ulquiorra's face. In fact he took his own sweet time. He was in the driving seat and he wanted it to remain that way - at least for the night. But this rarity didn't stay long. The leisurely and almost supreme feeling he had was quickly displaced by one more compelling, more significant than he could ever imagine. Before he could pick out each trait of his feelings and commit them to rigorous analysis, those disturbing clouds decided to show up.

"What do you have to say?" Ulquiorra demanded.

The clouds dispersed as quickly as they formed. "You look like him," was all Ichigo could say.

"I don't understand you." 

"Him," Kurosaki Ichigo sounded strangely distant. "You don't just look like him. You are him."

"Am I?"

A small nod.

"Coming from one who is inebriated, you are astonishingly eloquent."

Instead of attempting to gain a point back, Ichigo chose to laugh it off. He didn't know why he did that. Probably an instinctive move which had no rhyme nor reason. Light gusts of wind blew the clouds into oblivion. The moon soared into full view. Even the crickets had ceased chirping. Silver rays penetrated the foliage and hit the ground in jagged little angles. Ichigo was doused in them. Suddenly he thought of the photos he had snapped in the day. He thought of seeing Ulquiorra without those painted facial streaks for the first time. He thought of chilled beer. He thought of the sofa bed. He thought of the pampered ginger kitty. He thought of the movie and himself. His other self. Reel and real were converging into one line and he was treading it. He thought how nice it would be if there was someone waiting for him under the line with arms wide open. He thought he could be really drunk. He must be. If he wasn't drunk then very soon he would be.

"Why do you care?" Ichigo said, momentarily snapping out of his reverie. "Family and honor. Love. Friends. Which comes first? Which goes last?" Then turning to Ulquiorra, he jabbed a finger in his chest and asked:

"What would you choose?"

The green eyed man was unflinching in his stance. _Autumn Chrysalis, Act Five, Scene Three._

"I'm asking you - what would you choose?"

"Honor above all," said the man known as Takamatsu Soujiro.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"In this time and day, how can anyone else think otherwise? We live and fight for our clan, our namesake, our-"

"Why can't you accept my feelings?"

"There is no point in this, Yoshihito-kun. A war has to be fought. The less we think about such matters, the better it is for our sakes."

The fiery-haired young man named Murakami Yoshihito let out a harsh laugh. "Don't make it sound so easy."

"I never said it was."

"If I were you, Soujiro, I'd choose love. Family and honor? Dumped them years back. Friends? I'm driving away the only friend I could ever have. What's left for me is what you don't want and all I want before I march off to my death." Murakami smiled wryly. "Thought I got out of there for good and suddenly I'm returning in my wretched armor. I guess I'm uneducated and uncouth like that. Indecisive. Lowly. Poor. And to worsen things I'm a samurai, the enemy of the shinsengumi. Your enemy. Yet I don't wish to fight anybody. I'm a traitor. And here I am, standing before the love of my life like a cheap runaway from Choshu that I am."

"You are not a traitor."

"Hell yes I am."

"I said, you are not a traitor."

"I wish I could be so I can join you!"

"We should have ended this conversation before it has even begun," said the green eyed man. 

"And there are many things I wish to say to you."

"Let us end this conversation and never speak of it again."

Murakami grabbed his friend's hands. "I wish I can do that, but you won't set me free."

"Stop this."

"That night when I asked you to sleep with me again, and you turned me down no matter how hard I begged. Do you remember that? Do you even remember our first night together?"

"Stop."

"Did you mean it?"

"Stop."

"I just need to know if you've ever wanted to touch me."

Takamatsu exploded. "That one time was a mistake. Don't you understand? A mistake made by two parties who clearly were not in the right frame of mind for the blame to be solely pinpointed onto anyone or that any semblance to true desires and matters of the heart was at stake!"

"I don't believe you. You're a pathological liar and you know it. You lie so much that you don't even realize it. If you aren't, why are you so afraid of what I have to say?" 

"How many times must I make myself clear before you get the drift?"

"You shinsengumi prattle on and on about true loyalty to the emperor, the country, the heavens. Swearing upon this and that-and then you can't be true to yourself," Murakami laughed bitterly. "Even until the end you still can't-"

"Will you just stop it!"

With a quiet cry of anguish Takamatsu grabbed the front of his friend's shirt and slammed him against the wall, his lips crushing into the other's. A kiss so brutal and hungry in its depth that it was pit-less. Hopelessly dark and cold and in the dearth of the world they were two clumsy beings struggling to hold on to themselves. Overhead the clouds floated back to their original spots, tucking away the moon. He listened as the crickets belted a harmless ballad to the starless night. Jagged angles of light disappeared.

When Murakami opened his eyes he was Ichigo again. Ulquiorra's lips were no longer on his but his gaze was. Eyes of frosted jade bore into his, imploring an explanation of any sort. He had no answer and he supposed his co-star hadn't one as well. Ichigo soon realized there was no need for a reason at all. He couldn't even think straight. His heart thumped so loudly that he almost expected someone from upstairs to yell 'Shut up!'. No one did. So he closed his eyes again and leaned in. Shutting everything else from his mind, he used his fingers to trace for a reality he could comprehend. His heart, however, decided to march to its own beat. And he was there, trying not to breathe. Who they were didn't matter anymore. He could feel the other man frozen on the spot, mouth slightly ajar. Perhaps he wanted to move. Perhaps he hadn't-that Ichigo couldn't decipher. All he knew was the distortion in the air; it was trying to tell him something. Something bound to happen, something very important. No amount of fretting would dissolve it. He had to experience it again to make some sense out of it. The world around them slowly changed angles. An unseen force was pushing him forward and he couldn't retreat anymore. Hands tightly clutched under Ulquiorra's shirt collar, he drew him close and kissed him.

This time he meant it.


	25. Quarter Through Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The standard applies.

It was halfway through autumn when filming picked up pace.

Scenes were snapped and looked through and snapped and cut off, only for retakes to happen again. While waiting for a change of scene, Ichigo lazed on the chair in the dressing room, reading the latest Unohana Retsu novel and enjoying the solitude, when he spied his green-eyed co-star enter the room, looking nowhere but ahead. A stream of pink plumes trailed behind him, enigmatic as always. Ichigo wanted to call out to him but the words got caught in his throat, like a persistent fish bone wedged and refusing to come unstuck. He pretended to read his book as Ulquiorra ghosted past him, turned a corner and disappeared round the bend, not once acknowledging Ichigo's presence in the room.

Why care, Ichigo reasoned, when he won't even bother. Even if he does, then what? He shook his head inwardly. Impossible. And he had been trying to attain the impossible by scowling less and waving what he hoped had looked like a careless wave of greeting whenever their eyes met. He was ignored. A few times after filming ended for the day, Ichigo even tried to make small talk with Ulquiorra, only to be duly ignored again and again. He felt like a hapless fool who was trying too hard to make things happen, and to be realistic, there was no point in doing that. He hated to fall, and to fall flat on his face without having his co-star so much glance his way pissed him off. Him feeling pissed off made him even more pissed off. He couldn't think of any reasons why that would piss him off either. Once filming wrapped up, they won't see much of each other until the movie premiere. Yeah, why care? Once it's over, they will go their separate ways.

So the actor returned to his book, the part where he was reading bookmarked by his thumb. He couldn't really read anymore but besides reading, there wasn't much he could do. He was about to turn the page when a shadow lingered over the words. Thinking it could be the green-eyed man turning back for a little chat, even knowing that possibility was near impossible, Ichigo still looked up-heart pounding in his chest.

It was Shinji Hirako.

"Ah-look who we have here!" the blonde director called, his grin spread over his face like the shadow over Ichigo's book.

"Don't you have stuff to do?" Ichigo asked, his heartbeat falling back to normal.

Shinji pulled out a chair and sat down. "Great directors need a break too."

At that, Ichigo slanted a look that shouted don't bug me-I'm serious! and continued to read. He felt Shinji glancing in his direction and then at his book, but he refused to give in. The book was good. Critics referred to it as the modern day sequel to Autumn Chrysalis. Ichigo was just starting on the part where the two male characters talked about love in 21st century. As he read, his cheeks heated up. Until today he hadn't an in-depth discussion with anyone or anything (the book included) on this topic. The thought alone made him blush. He read on.

They sat in silence. Eventually Shinji grew tired of studying his fingers and adjusting his striped blue and white tie. There was only so much studying and adjusting he could do. He cleared his throat and rocked his chair a little.

"You know, Vampy Boy," he began, using his favorite nickname for the actor, "about the age old adage-he who is furthest sees clearest?"

Losing the mood to read, Ichigo put his book away and looked squarely at the director. "Yeah. What about it?"

"You sure you really understand?"

"Don't be stupid. Who doesn't?"

Shinji swung back in his seat, arms casually crossed before his chest. "Being the main guy behind the camera, I see many things. I have to. And I see them really clearly. Like a 3D movie. Actors, idiots, lighting, sounds, props, settings, dialogues. But none of them can rival the waves. Those waves." He uncrossed his arms and swept his hands apart, like a conductor introducing his orchestra. "The inspiration behind every filmmaker's desire to create."

"Waves?"

The blonde nodded. "Yep. It's something only directors can see and understand. It's a special gift. Waves of light flocking around people, like some telepathy lines. Like I said, it's special and it takes someone equally special to see it. It may not necessarily be waves all the time. It takes up new forms and changes shape when it comes to different people. Perfectly logical, if you ask me. No two persons have the same set of eyes. But hey-ho, if you ever meet someone who sees the same sort of light as you do...well, that's another story altogether. Even if you have the time to hear me out, I'm not sure if I can explain it. Maybe I need a PhD in this subject or something...hmm..."

Ichigo could only frown. There was no other response to be elicited.

"Ever tried photography? It's that instantaneous feeling of having something on the verge of greatness and brimming with raw emotion. Even when you press the shutter and the shot comes out, its colors flowering before you in full glory, you can't help but think it's awfully real that it must be a fantasy, but in truth, it's more real, much more real than you can imagine."

Ichigo reddened. He couldn't help it. "Like Polaroid shots?" He had no idea where that came from.

"That's quite…" Shinji scratched the bridge of his nose, letting his words linger in the air weightlessly. "Anyway, if you've done some polaroid shooting recently, who's the subject? How did you frame her? Or how did you frame-" the blonde arched a fine brow at Ichigo. "- _him?"_

_"Him?"_

"Him as in 'he', as in the general form for people," Shinji explained with a smirk. "From the looks of it, you seem like a people shooter."

"Uh…not really. Just saying," Ichigo fibbed, his ears transforming into ripe tomatoes. "I...I was-"

"Reeeeeeelax. I'm not forcing anything out of you!" Shinji grinned and patted Ichigo's shoulder. He stood up and walked to the door. As if he had forgotten something important, he stopped before the door and spun around.

"You know, Vampy Boy, it's been a while since I last looked forward to anything outside of filmmaking."

"I hear you like jazz?"

"Oh yes I do. Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, naa naa naa naa. But this-what I'm anticipating, is a different kind of swing."

"I don't get you."

"I read the blind items in the local gossip dailies too and most of the time, I'm spot on," said Shinji with a knowing wink. He then turned the brass knob and left the room, whistling a tune as he tracked down the corridor, leaving Ichigo submerged in further confusion.

 

* * *

 

A week arrived and another week took its place. And so on. Before anyone realized it, time had sped ahead to November, leaving October and its subtle wisp of strangeness far behind. Soon it would be winter, December, Christmas and a brand new year with brand new resolutions to make. Suddenly life became a bullet train and Ichigo wasn't sure if he liked it. He thought he should have gotten used to it by now; it wasn't as if he was new to the entertainment industry. Yet somehow, he was still holding onto October with a quiet desperation. He wished he knew why. One thing he knew for sure: the bitter chill of the movie set was getting to him.

It was practically insane, the temperature. The last time Ichigo managed to de-thaw himself from his chair and stumbled like a heavy-legged snowman across to the thermostat, he saw it plunge to an alarming ten degree celsius. No one else seemed to feel the cold and he didn't want to make it look as if he was whining, much less attempting to hoard his co-star's attention. Staving the chill away as he stood by himself in one flaking corner of the movie studio, he thought of many things that would keep him warm: the movie, the new novel trilogy he purchased recently, Yuzu's shio ramen, a huge bonfire at the beach, his comforter back at home, Hawaii, spring, summer. No matter where they showed up at, somehow, they always circled back to the same point: that one lazy morning where he woke up on the sofa bed, snug and warm, snuggling next to his co-star.

"I'm definitely not thinking of that," said Ichigo.

"Thinking of what?" came a low, quiet voice. It was Ulquiorra. Of course it was Ulquiorra. Ichigo knew that without even thinking. His voice was not the sort he would or maybe, refuse to forget easily, not after hearing the evenly cool pacing in his ear, breathy or monotonous whenever the speaker felt like it.

Ichigo hugged himself. "Just like you to invade my privacy."

The raven haired actor stood beside him, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark grey trench coat. They were alone, everyone else had gone out for lunch.

"Weren't you with them?" he asked.

"I felt like being miserable and hungry and cold and lonely, so here I am." Ichigo could feel a smothering set of emerald eyes on him as he spoke. The intensity seemed to drench his sarcasm, drop by drop. Gathering what was left of him from fighting the cold, he lifted his head and locked gazes with the very man whom he had just kissed deeply and embraced two hours ago. On the set, of course. Then he averted his glance, sharply as though he was caught staring at an object he shouldn't dare trespass.

"You didn't eat?"

The carrot top made a big show out of clattering his teeth and gnashing his jaws. "Frozen," he said.

"All the more it should make sense to leave the studio and head out."

"Nah." Ichigo shook his head stubbornly. "Told you I didn't feel like it."

"You would rather suffer here and be bitter about it."

"So what? It's not like you to be concerned."

Neither spoke for moments after that.

"I should be," Ulquiorra said at last. "I very well could be."

He directed a purposeful look at his co-star, who felt as if someone had set his insides on fire and then poured kerosene all over the burning bits, with a large fan blasting away. Kurosaki Ichigo was hardly feeling OK. The icy wonderland he was standing on suddenly burst into a fiery inferno. Was he biting the chill now or heating up? For a moment he couldn't form a single coherent thought, much less think up a reply. He could only gape like a silly goldfish.

"Whatever you do," Ulquiorra continued in his characteristic cool tone. "Don't impede the production schedule. Kuchiki-san is already displeased with the three week hiatus."

Ichigo pinched himself in the wrist. _Snap out of it! He's just speaking in that idiotic, riddled manner as he always does. His forte. It's annoying. Annoying!_

"If at any point of filming, you were to revert to that imbecilic fool before the break, I would have you replaced at any cost."

"You?" Ichigo mocked, his wrist hurting from the forceful pinches.

Ulquiorra gave a tiny nod. "To date, however, your job remains protected."

"Whoa. Am I hearing things because my ass is frozen off or did you just somewhat, in your roundabout little way, said something non-negative about me for once?"

"Words have meanings and meanings are subjective."

"Shut up," Ichigo shot back, grinning despite himself. _"Quiqui."_

Ulquiorra didn't say anything. Slowly and unnoticeably, his feet lifted themselves off the ground, noiseless and quick as a darting shadow, and landed a few spaces away from where they were at. Shifting and shifting, until his own pair of black loafers stood right next to Ichigo's red Converse sneakers. Outside the wind continued to howl and leaves skirted the long driveways, and their shadows overlapped into each other in that wintry film set one fine Wednesday afternoon.

 

* * *

 

"Cut!" two voices yelled at the same time. A man's and a woman's. Loud, clear, demanding, blonde.

"I say, cut!" the two voices snarled at each other. "Cut!"

"Hey shortie, I'm the director. Guess what that means?" Shinji sneered at his assistant. "I call the shots, get it?" he pointed to his director's chair. "I sit here, therefore I'm in charge."

"Beat it," said Hiyori, waving the clapper rudely in his face. "I get to say what's in my hands."

They went on arguing and counter-arguing and refuting whatever claims each had to yell out, temporarily forgetting what was in front of them. A movie set made to resemble the room of a ryokan inn during the late Edo period. In the middle of tatami mats and sparse lighting and cotton futons with its spread peeled away, were two men wrapped up in each other, dressed in nothing but their blue yukatas.

"That's a cut or what?" Ichigo asked, making sure to limit his lip movements in case the cameras were still rolling.

Ulquiorra returned his question with an empty stare.

"What the hell are they up to now? Can't they hurry up?" Ichigo mouthed into his co-star's long (and fake) raven locks. Some flew below his nose and tickled his nostrils. He held back a sneeze and hurriedly blew the stray pieces of hair away.

"If you have the sense to look before you ask, you would have noticed I'm looking in the opposite direction," Ulquiorra said.

Ichigo's teeth chattered slightly. "Remind me never to ask you anything again."

"Is that a request you're asking of me?"

"Stupid blank-eyed pompous low EQ jerk."

"Are we back to our stipulated word count challenge?" the green eyed actor asked, referring to the onslaught of verbatim they hurled at each other mercilessly in front of the media, who lapped them up hungrily and begged for more.

"Only if you want to."

"You can't win me."

"I've been following the thesaurus religiously every night! And English too. Don't think you're the only one who can speak it with ease. I'm coming right up!"

"What are you going to do when you have, say, in the most unlikely of circumstances, mastered the English language?"

Ichigo found his nose tickled by Ulquiorra's wig again. "Put it to good use!"

"Venturing overseas?"

"Nah, just Japan. I kind of like it here."

Again Ulquiorra slipped into silence, a silence magnified by the surrounding noises, of Shinji and Hiyori arguing, of people trying to break them up, of the clapper being waved loosely in the air, dry wooden clangs sounding together every now and then. Arms around Ichigo, he tightened his hold on him, beckoning the carrot top forward. A tiny, inconspicuous action that couldn't be caught on camera, but the rush of body heat encompassing Ichigo was undeniable. He felt it, so did Ulquiorra.

"Is this part of the script?" asked Ichigo. It was a very snug kind of warmth, not just tingling under his skin, but also kicking up some invisible gear buried somewhere inside him. Not the movie 'him', but the real 'him', living and breathing off the pages. "You sure are one focused bastard, aren't you? Dedicated to this extent..."

The older actor said nothing but continued to hold him tight. Ichigo felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair.

The clapper rang through the air.

"OK stupids, cut!" Hiyori hollered. "Get lost now and see you tomorrow at 5.30am!"

Ears aflame, Ichigo sprang up and half-shoved his co-star off him, quickly stepped into his shoes and disappeared into the dressing room, leaving a certain raven haired actor seated on the tatami mat, staring into space.

"Your fingernails were turning purple," he mumbled once Ichigo was out of earshot.

 

* * *

 

When Inoue Orihime walked into the movie set two days later with a specially bundled lunch box in her hands, she was welcomed by a roving pack of reporters hovering outside the studio, snooping around for whiffs of gossip as their blind items. She smiled and waved for the cameras before sneaking in through the back door with the help of her minders-tall brutes with clean shaven heads and adorned in black and white suits.

Ichigo didn't know of her visit; no one had informed him and her appearance had him no less surprised than the others.

"I-Inoue?" he squawked. He was in full performance mode, hair, make-up, clothes, everything. He was ready to fall in love with his co-star when the cameras rolled and suddenly he had to discard that persona and switch over to another role: the boyfriend of Inoue Orihime. It wasn't fun at all. He had planned on chatting with Ulquiorra a little too. He could feel the ice melting between them again, as if they were gradually returning to the almost-friendly camaraderie in Ulquiorra's penthouse suite, as if they could use those three weeks as a foundation to layer their relationship.

"Kurosaki-kun," she replied, smiling and latching onto her fake beau's arm. "Hope I didn't intrude on your work."

Ichigo eked out a grin. There were people around. "Of course not. What's up?"

"How's everything?"

"Not worth breaking a sweat over."

Orihime leaned into him and stood on her toes. "They told me to come over," she whispered into his ear.

Ichigo nodded. "Someone wants to sell more magazines," he mouthed back.

"You look famished, Kurosaki-kun," Orihime remarked. The soles of her ballet flats were one with the floor again.

"Came out in a rush as usual," Ichigo said sheepishly. "Kinda hungry, now that you mention it."

"I don't ever recall having this woman partaking in a role of any sort on Autumn Chrysalis," said Ulquiorra. He was coming through the door with his script in hand when he saw them huddled close together.

"She's with me!" Ichigo snapped.

"Ulquiorra-kun," said Orihime, bowing slightly before turning to the carrot top. "I was at this confectionary at Ginza yesterday afternoon and had the most scrumptious high tea. The scones, the muffins, the tea jam, vanilla tea. Everything was so great. We should head there for the weekend, if you're available."

"Ey, Vampy Boy," Shinji nudged him as he walked by, stopping to eavesdrop on them. "Your girl here is pretty brazen. Asking you out in front of everyone."

"Err…" Ichigo didn't know what to say.

"It's OK if you can't make it. I understand. But, because I was so inspired by the delicacies, I bought a recipe book and tried my hand at a few this morning." Orihime peeled back the kimono-styled bundle and opened the box. In it were butter cookies and snack-sized chocolate banana muffins and fruit jam tarts toasted around the edges. Arranged daintily on three circular drawers of containers, they wouldn't look an inch out of place in a high class tea lounge.

Ichigo peeked into the box. "You sure it's edible?" he asked, to the laughter of everyone in the vicinity. All except Ulquiorra who had trooped off into a corner of the set, eyeing the couple with a gaze that seemed indecipherable to any outsider.

"Kidding," Ichigo grinned. "They look pretty good." He took the most toasted piece of fruit jam tart and threw it into his mouth. He would rather have a burnt tart in his tummy than an unevenly baked piece of dough.

Orihime passed the box around, going from person to person, her smile ever disaffecting, prompting remarks of her compatibility with Ichigo, how they were meant to be, his suave yet fiercely loyal devil-may-care attitude complementing her sweet, selfless character. Words that had no place in Ulquiorra's dictionary, much less his brain and his heart. He supposed his brain might contract as a result of prolonged exposure to such an environment, he, however, he hadn't expected his heart to constrict too. The more he watched them together and hearing what others thought of them, the more nauseated he felt. Maybe he needed air. All he could see was her smiling, him scowling then grinning, her holding onto him and whispering into his ear, him gazing into her eyes, a clean, happy couple in the prime of their youth, her eager to spread news of their love, him behaving nonchalantly about it. Ulquiorra really needed air. Lots and lots of fresh air, far away from being cooped up in this movie set, what with its dim lighting and constant spotlight blaring in his face, a face devoid of the usual streaks running from his eyes to the slopes of his cheeks. He hadn't felt this uncomfortable in a while. He needed to get out.

"Ulquiorra-kun, won't you have one?" Orihime broke in.

Without even looking her in the eye, Ulquiorra Schiffer sidestepped her and left the movie set.

 

* * *

 

 "Here you are," Ichigo said in an accusatory tone. He was huffing from running about the large movie park. "Everyone was wondering where the hell you vanished to."

Ulquiorra cranked open the lid and held the can of green tea to his lips. Cool vapor hovered above them, not once touching. They were at a small park two blocks away from Studio Three, which also housed several of the sets for Autumn Chrysalis. Ulquiorra was sitting on a stone bench, watching a babbling brook flow into a koi pond when he spied a vending machine and fished some loose change for a drink.

"What's wrong with you?" Ichigo asked. "After being rude to a girl, you skulk off and hide here. How nice. Of course I know-you are Ulquiorra Schiffer. No one is better than your kind. But she's a girl and she worked really hard on the cookies."

"Man, woman. They are the same."

"Anatomically, no."

"I need to drink my tea."

The green eyed man swirled the contents in the can, unblinking, as if deep in thought. He was about to take a calculated sip when he decided not to at the final second. He didn't feel like drinking green tea suddenly. Moreover the tea was cold, chilled from the vending machine. He didn't need anything cold, not especially now.

"There is tea inside. Plenty of tea to go around. Warm tea too."

Ulquiorra continued to swirl his tea. A few koi fish swam close to the surface, eager for some sun. He watched them, counting the number of fish sunning themselves in his head. He saw Ichigo's shadow short under the three o' clock afternoon sun. It stood a short distance away from his own.

"Back to ignoring me?" Ichigo questioned. He was getting more and more impatient with the puzzle that was Ulquiorra Schiffer. After days of being ignored, the pale man suddenly appeared next to him on the set and shuffled closer and closer to him. Then he was ignored again, after which, he was embraced so warmly. And now, was the pattern starting to stick?

"If you say so."

"If I say so?" the younger actor said, volume raising with every word. "What's with this odd silence and half-assed reply? Your tongue got pulled out by Sakana-chan?"

"If that is all you have to say, you can leave."

"I'm not leaving, idiot."

Ulquiorra glared at him. "You can have your scones. I shall have my tea. Is that an issue with you?"

"How did you figure that out? Yeah, I do have some issues with you."

"I have nothing to comment on your acting."

"I'm not talking about that."

"What else can you be capable of?"

"Is that what you think of me?"

"I do not think of anything with regards to you."

"I don't get it. One moment I'm inside the barrier, the other moment I'm left outside. What's what? When I'm inside, actually I'm just outside? Or am I straying further and further away from the core?"

Ulquiorra stopped spinning the can with his fingers. The contents swirled to a stop. He lowered the can from his lips. "You confuse others at the risk of confusing yourself," he replied.

"Confused? I'm not confused. If anything, it's your stinking behavior that's confusing me!"

"What are you insinuating?"

"Don't go all ignorant on me."

Ulquiorra stood up from the bench and looked squarely at Ichigo. "I am heading back to the studio."

"I know you know. Feigning ignorance is what you do best, Ulquiorra Schiffer. It's as clear as day! Barely six or seven weeks ago we were on pretty good terms with each other, OK, not the best of pals, but still passable. And what's the deal with holding me so tightly two days ago? I swear it wasn't in the script or anything we've agreed beforehand. Right, I was cold. You saw it. You could have asked for the two noisy blondes to shove it and left me to freeze till I go into hypothermia. But you held me so tightly as if you…" he couldn't go on anymore. What did he want to say anyway? That he thought, in a flash of giddiness and disbelief, the raven haired man actually cared for him in some capacity?

"You were hallucinating."

"That's right. I must be. You're strange, Ulquiorra Schiffer. From day one of our meeting till now, you just want to mess me up, don't you? Bring me up, and take me down. For your own enjoyment?"

"I cannot change your mind, but if you insist on me being the root cause of your personal problems and the suffocation of your barely existent talent, then you are weaker than I could ever give you credit for."

"Why did you even pass me the keys to your place back then?"

"You were dire."

Ichigo inhaled deeply and exhaled. He did this for five seconds. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. "I didn't come here to pick a fight," he said. "I just want to find out something." He inhaled and exhaled again, the air temporarily trapped in his lungs. He didn't know why but he badly wanted to mention the abrupt kiss Ulquiorra initiated that night when his palm was slit by a broken plate. He didn't, as if the thought of him mentioning it would be forever condemned to non-existence, its false truth affirmed and reaffirmed by the man who did it. He couldn't let the balloon of air flee his lungs. He swallowed hard and forced this air somewhere else, pushing it down to the dregs of his heart until it was compressed to nothingness.

"If you wish to know something, here's one," said Ulquiorra. "That we are actors enacting a story and no more." He tossed the can of green tea into a bin. The can sailed to the bottom and landed with a heavy thud.


	26. I Got It Bad And It Ain't Good

Abarai Renji was sneezing his head off, busting his lungs and the eardrums of his actor friend. He sat on the edge of the bed, one leg propped against the wall, mucus from his nose running free. He fingered the cellphone in his pocket, took it out and fingered the number pad, as if waiting for someone to contact him. Then he sneezed again.

"Can't you tune it down? You're affecting my thoughts!" Ichigo scowled.

"S-o-r-r-y." Renji reached for a tissue to blow his nose and had his hand slapped away. "Hey!" he protested.

"Use your own."

"Tch," Renji grouched, chin sinking into his large hands. "Wassup with the grumpiness on a beautiful Wednesday morning? Ain't you long past puberty?"

"Shut up, baboon. It's my business."

"Oh, so your business is a great business."

"What now?" Ichigo snapped, jerking his head sharply at the redhead. "I'm a troubled twenty-three year old, how's that?"

Renji slid off the bed and onto the floor in one clean swipe. "That makes two of us, that's what."

"What worries you? A lack of bananas? Seriously, now," Ichigo scoffed, to which his friend failed to reply. The redhead had seemingly traversed to another world of his own, shoulders slumped and head nestling against the bed frame.

Ichigo nudged him with a piece of tissue. No response.

"Fine," said he, surprised to find himself with the last word.

"We are pals, right?" Renji later asked in a tiny voice uncharacteristic even to himself.

Ichigo arched a brow. "Why?"

"How do you know a pal when you see one?"

"That's a tough one to tackle. How about an easier nut to crack?"

"You suck, man. Lemme see." Renji was clearly in deep thought, sitting up straight in a lotus position, tattooed brows furrowing into one tight knot. "How about this: when can you tell if a pal is still a pal or has a pal crossed over to the other side?"

"Other side?"

Renji buried his face in his huge hands and sighed dramatically. "They become more than mere pals. They transcend the entire meaning of 'pals'. Get it, dumb ass?"

"Oh. Pals. What a _nice_ generic term."

"Excuse your sarcasm. Really cute way of treating someone who needs answers solid and fast."

"Now that's cute."

"Will you just leave me alone? I'm onto something that's plaguing me like a bunch of shitty houseflies for the past few weeks!"

"As if you're the only one!" Ichigo cut a look at Renji. "Now, since you've been busying yourself with the theory of 'pals' for weeks, I'm sure you can answer one question. Nothing more, just one question."

"Nasty bugger."

"How do you, in the first place, even ascertain whether you are pals?"

The redhead slapped his thigh in annoyance. "Chicken feed. You watch footy together, you laugh and chat and share the same frequency, you drink together, you get drunk together, you see how shitty the other can be but never fails to bust out a move when you need it the most. Pals."

"What if your so-called pal refuses to acknowledge that you are pals?"

"Maybe that pal wants to go straight to beyond pals?"

"Impossible."

Renji traded glances with his friend. "That's what I thought too."

There went a beautiful Wednesday morning, stifled in a bout of sighs.

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra Schiffer looked out the window from thirty stories high in the Tokyo business district. The Shibuya 109 building streets away stood like a neon beam stretching all the way beyond the stratosphere. Gingko trees barely hanging onto their last flurry of gold, lights plastered across the tarmac distance, little dots stringing together in incoherent sets of lines. Then he looked ahead and came face to face with his own reflection dimming under the lights, its outline vanishing under the gathering dark.

"You've decided?" Aizen Sousuke clasped his fingers together on the polished oakwood table.

Ulquiorra turned away from the window and stared straight at the CEO overseeing the artiste management company he was under. "Yes," he said.

Aizen's brown eyes glimmered. "Good news. For the company, for yourself."

The desktop calendar showed Monday, 29 November 2010. One month to Christmas. Already the office was decorated from head to toe in glittery lights and lit-up miniatures of the Eiffel Tower, Tokyo Tower, the Shanghai TV Tower, the Tower of London, the Twin Towers of Kuala Lumpur, and more up and coming towers than Ulquiorra could bother to dig up from his memory. All he knew was how much the man in question adored towers and he would probably buy them all and uplift them into his personal theme park if he could have his way.

"Indeed," said Ulquiorra.

"I can only say this - I'm glad. You've made the correct decision, just as I expect of you."

"Thank you."

Aizen rose to his full height and stepped away from the chair. "Two years away from Japan." His alligator loafers clicked dully on the floor.

"A mere 730.5 days."

"Or more, if you plan to further your career there. You could end up staying there for the rest of your life. And we know Los Angeles is no bullet train ride from Hokkaido to Tokyo."

Of course, Ulquiorra thought.

"At the risk of sounding like an overrun tape, I will just have to query once more."

"Please speak your mind."

"Are you entirely sure about this? Although it's impossible to think of you this way, I wouldn't want you backing out at the last minute. It's a major production we are looking at here. You know what I'm talking about."

"You have my word, Aizen-san. Please rest assured."

"Besides, they are really looking forward to work with you next year."

"I can say the same of myself."

Aizen smiled and flicked off imaginary dust from his double-breasted blazer with his fingers positioned as if wielding a shotgun. "I can't wait to see a Japanese actor lifting the big prize on the world stage."

Ulquiorra gave a half bow. "Much obliged."

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo's stomach was growling when the meeting ended. He entered the building when it was morning and now dusk had began to gather over the horizon. Grumbling about bickering bosses and lousy compensation payouts and the potential renewal of the contractual relationship with Orihime, he got into his silver Impreza and drove to his favorite teppanyaki restaurant nearby. As usual the place was crowded, it being Friday and marked a fresh start to the most joyous month of the year, so he pulled his cap low over his eyes and sat in a corner where he could be in peace.

"Sir, your order?" a waiter asked.

"Grilled hamburger steak with raw onion rings. Extra rice. Sprinkle some sesame seeds and seaweed on it."

The waiter repeated his order. Ichigo nodded and rubbed his hands together and watched as the waiter disappeared in a maze of tables and bent backs. The carrot top sipped some roast brown rice tea and puffed out his inner chilliness on the window to his left. Then he rubbed the hazy spot with the back of his palm and gazed at the world outside through that little circle of clarity. He saw the normal Tokyo night scene, where every inch bustled with activity. Streetlights thronged the sidewalks. He can vaguely hear music thumping outside those thick glass windows, Christmas songs rendered and sometimes butchered by contemporary pop groups and singers.

Soon the food was served and Ichigo quickly helped himself to it, cutting the steak into little cubes. As he chewed his food, he turned to look outside the window through the fudged circle he made. Billboards cast an otherworldly rainbow of colors on couples strolling down the streets, huddled in their puffy down jackets, huddled in each other. Fine threads of rain became visible through the prisms of streetlight. The couples walked even closer together, practically leaning on each other, pulling their hoods over their heads, sharing an umbrella large enough for them to walk alongside comfortably, sharing an umbrella so small they had to squeeze like soaked rats under it, cupping their hands over their heads. The couples might have their exposed shoulders wet from the drizzle, but their smiles were warm.

For a moment, Ichigo wondered what it would be like to share an umbrella with someone he loved, running across the pavement in matching strides, their shoulders touching, lending warmth to bodies chilled by the rain.

Totally stupid and redundant, Ichigo shook his head, forcing himself to come to his senses. There's no one like that for him. There's no reason to squeeze under a tiny umbrella when you can have two big ones to hold and shield yourself from all weather elements. Besides, soon the sky will begin to snow and who cares about having two palms over your head or a hat with two flaps covering your ears or whatever. The snow eventually falls on you and when it melts, your clothes become damp and -

He stopped. His internal monologue sounded exactly like what someone would say. Ichigo forked a piece of his hamburger steak and chewed it when without warning, a certain green eyed man with near alabaster skin came to mind, and he was coming closer and closer, sending odd fuses of electricity up Ichigo's spine. Against his will he suddenly recalled the burst of warmth flowing through him that day on the movie set, when he was nearly freezing to death. Locked in a tight embrace, with his raven co-star's arms around him. It had felt so nice, even though it wasn't real. The cameras were on at that time, weren't they?

"--'cuse me, sir? You want more ice in your drink?" the waiter's voice pierced through Ichigo's daydream.

Ichigo blinked. "Ice?"

"Yeah, weren't you calling for more ice?"

Realizing that he had been talking out loud to himself, Ichigo stood up rapidly and fished some bills from his pocket. He made sure to keep his head low. "So, err...how long have you been standing here?"

"A while, sir. I thought you were calling for me to add an order."

"Did I say anything else to you?" He coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Mmm...something about damp clothes and pale skin. Is it about the rain? I guess you must have caught a slight chill."

Ichigo didn't say anything but smacked a 5,000 yen note on the table. "Here's for my meal. Keep the change, okay? Oh--and you know what. I think you're right. I caught a cold, so I'm not really making any sense." He nodded to himself. "That's right. I feel feverish too. Guess I gotta get home and sleep."

The waiter stared at the money on the table. The meal only cost 1,800 yen. He turned his attention back to Ichigo again. This customer definitely wasn't making any sense at all. "Wait, sir. You must have the change back! It's too much money--" 

Before he could finish his sentence, Ichigo had hightailed out of the eatery and disappeared into the sea of umbrellas.

* * *

 

Wandering down large and jam-packed shopping districts was never Ulquiorra's specialty. In a bid to avoid the crowds of Shinjuku he stepped into a three story high multimedia store and made a beeline for the DVDs section. He had surfed a premier movie site days ago and spied some highly acclaimed titles in American cinema. What was of paramount significance now was to shore up his language and decode the way American actors behave on screen. That way he could handle the set and its members once he stepped in. He liked no surprises, even the role he was in running for - a Japanese time-slipping into New York in the 1940s - lay within brief inches of his grasp. As long as he said yes, Aizen promised, he would be on his way to Hollywood.

Four months later, he would leave Japan. For good? He didn't know. There was nothing, in theory, that could hold him back. His mother was perfectly alright with him heading over since they hadn't lived under the same roof since he left school. She could visit him anytime or even move in with him if she wished to. He could visit her in Hakodate if time permitted. He could export his pet kitty over, or leave her with Grimmjow for the time being. He could sell his penthouse suite in Roppongi Hills, the furniture, the window sills, the crockery, everything. Then he recalled a particular item sitting in his living room that wasn't purchased under his account. Should he return it to him since it wasn't needed anymore? Or had he long forgotten that he had left something in Ulquiorra's home? If anything, those three weeks they spent together had somehow dissipated into spiraling columns of smoke. He would be self-deluded to think it could happen otherwise, especially given how he had ended their last interaction at the small park outside the movie studio. Did he regret it? Well, Ulquiorra Schiffer didn't do regrets. So be it.

Before he realized it, Ulquiorra had stopped before a six feet tall rack showcasing the latest bestselling DVDs. Altogether there were fifty ranks shelved in accordance to their sales for the week. Number one right at the top, number fifty at the bottom. Ulquiorra took a step back and glanced all fifty rows in one go. There were a couple he recognized and dismissed after ten minutes of viewing, there were those he respected (no more than three) and there were those he saw as absolute Shibuya trash. He saw his personal collector's box set coming in at number four. He saw the horrible vampire trilogy set headlined by Ichigo topping the sales chart. For three weeks too. What on earth was the world coming to? Then again, he wasn't surprised. It was a story anyone with a heart could empathize with and lose themselves in easily. Plus, the DVD cover looked amazing. A brooding Kurosaki Ichigo with his face tilted forty-five degrees to the right - his best angle as Ulquiorra had observed through their kissing scenes together - no wait, Ulquiorra paused mid-thought, what was he supposed to purchase again? He stared at the DVD cover again. It really didn't look too bad, his mind repeated. Deciding he could return home to refresh his memory and not wanting to make a wasted trip, he reached for the top shelf.

"Why would anyone buy trash like that?" said a passing salaryman to his girlfriend. "And a guy at that? What's he? A flaming gay?" He looked at Ulquiorra over his shoulder.

The acclaimed actor was nearly unrecognizable without his signature facial makeup on, half of his face buried under his grey felt coat and white woollen hat.

"Softer! He can hear you," his girlfriend interrupted.

"So what? People who buy that shit have no right to pick a fight with other people."

"It's not too nice. Everyone has their own preference."

"It just so happens that some preferences are better than others," he said, his voice drifting past Ulquiorra like a midnight train ghosting from station to station. "Stupid vampire shit. Half the people living here are bloody fools who can't appreciate true cinema."

The green eyed actor kept his head low and walked briskly to the cashier. Retaliation would be an unnecessary exertion of strength; he needed deep reserves of them to deal with the mandatory behind-the-scenes interview sessions next week. Thoughts are nice for sure, because they hardly come to fruition in real life. Exactly that was what crossed Ulquiorra's mind when he exchanged glances with a cashier manning the only payment counter on the DVDs floor.

 

* * *

  

An Ulquiorra Schiffer movie was screening on prime time television. The movie event of the year, said the newspaper listing for the day's programming schedule. It was the very movie which had the actor nab his major cinema honors in the region and propelled him to superstardom, a term he blatantly disregarded time and again.

"This is the sixth time I'm watching it," Kurosaki Isshin informed loudly. "Keeps gettin' better!"

Yuzu nodded vigorously, never tearing her eyes away from the screen. "Especially the part where Youtaro runs past his younger self, his eyes full of regret and unbearable pain."

"You do realize you're already fast forwarding to the ending when we are only six minutes into the movie?" Karin pointed out. "Anyway, can't believe that we have an autographed poster on our wall! Courtesy of the man himself! We can sell it when things get bad."

Isshin beamed. "I xeroxed a copy of it on A3-sized paper."

"Loser." That was Karin.

"Youtaro Kitamura!" Yuzu added. "And he was at our place too. With his sick kitty. I thought his kitty was a myth. It was so cute to see him in the flesh. He looks nothing like Youtaro."

"Why of course! Didn't he nab every single acting award there was to nab for an Asian actor for his portrayal of Youtaro? I've seen blogs where fans screen-capped every frame he was in, especially those he was seen winking at the trucks of illegal Russian immigrants passing him by!"

"Even the old fool reads blogs?" Karin again.

"That was a really beautiful wink!" Yuzu had spun off into her own universe.

"He was downright evil in that movie," Karin interjected.

"But he redeemed himself in the end!"

"He did it the complicated way."

"Who did it the complicated way?" asked Ichigo as he entered the house. Carefully he lay his black and orange sneakers on the shoe rack and frowned at his family huddling together in a circle around the television.

"Your beautiful lover, son!"

"Huh?"

"The one and only!" Isshin pointed at the screen where Ulquiorra as Youtaro had just stabbed a random Russian man in the heart with his katana without displaying a single shred of remorse.

"What?" Ichigo nearly shrieked, his face turning funny shades of beetroot red. "What-err-l-lov-"

"Ichi-nii, come sit down and watch with us!" Yuzu smiled, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Grateful for the timely intervention, Ichigo nodded and joined the huddle of three. Soon he was intrigued by the drama and he would rather lose a limb than admit he was enthralled by his co-star's talent. One minute a kind young man in the Edo period who lived in self-denial and charming speech, the other a heartless Japanese soldier who barely spoke but inflicted cruelty as if he was born with it. Needless to say, he looked equally good. Those eyes especially - wait, Ichigo shook his head, what was up with him today?

"Ichi-nii, have you watched any of Ulquiorra-san's movies?" asked Yuzu midway through the movie during the commercial interval.

"Nope. Why?"

"As his co-star, shouldn't you be doing homework on him?" Yuzu pondered.

"Our son only needs to love his co-star! Simple! That's the only homework he needs to do in life!"

"No one asked you to speak, old man!" said Karin, turning up the volume to tune the elder Kurosaki out.

"Well," Ichigo replied, not forgetting to escape his father's gut churning embraces while he was raking his brains for an answer, "I did perform some background check on him before we met." He didn't enter the details and he supposed he knew more about the real Ulquiorra Schiffer than any tell-all account.

Karin shrugged. "Got to up your game. He's doing way more research on you than you are on him."

"Meaning?"

"He bought your trilogy DVD set."

Seconds passed. The only volume in the room came from the TV.

"Care to run that by me again?" Ichigo asked.

"He was dressed all casual at the store this evening and paid for it in cash. At first I thought I was seeing things, how on earth would someone like Ulquiorra Schiffer buy, sorry no offense Ichi-nii, a silly movie like a vampiric love triangle. But remember, he showed up at our house without makeup and that was what he looked like when he came to the cashier. I made a couple of second guesses too, but one little action gave him away. You know, our eyes met and stuff and for a sec there, he seemed panicky and wanted to flee at the nearest possible chance. How many times do you get to run into the man himself in a store buying things like a normal human being? I had to prove my theory, so I took my own sweet time and counted the yen notes while scrutinizing him. He kept his eyes on the floor throughout, as if he didn't want me to recognize him. He didn't even count his change. Stuffed them into the plastic carrier together with the DVDs and sped towards the exit. Guilty as charged."

All three listeners sat there, unmoving since Karin's first word. Suddenly the movie paled in comparison.

"I'm speechless," Isshin offered.

"Know what I think?" Karin grinned a rare grin. Something she only did when her confidence hit an all-time high. "I think he's keeping something from Ichi-nii. Something big."

"Like a human? He's keeping a human from my dear son and your brave brother?"

Karin ignored him. "First, he obviously didn't want to be recognized. The DVD set cost a bunch and the general shoppers pay by credit. He paid by cash - untraceable. No name divulged to the cashier too. Second, if he wanted to watch the movie and criticize you, he can either obtain the DVDs from your management company for free or catch it online. Why pay for something you don't care about, right? Third, he didn't want me to recognize him because he knows I'm your sister and I will let you on what I saw. Fourth," Karin halted abruptly and gave a meaningful look to the trio who clung onto her every word. Ichigo tried to look otherwise but his ears remained pricked in his sister's direction. Karin had developed the air of a well-known sleuth used to addressing the exact breakdown of a crime to a crowd. She might have as well been standing behind a podium.

"There are three versions of The Vampire trilogy and guess which one he picked," said she.

"The one that came with a free poster?"

"Yep, Yuzu. Right on. The most expensive version with all those stupid freebies like Ichi-nii making a fool out of himself when he wasn't shooting the movie, or NGs that are equally useless and whatnot. The one with the really nice holographic cover. He picked that."

Ichigo stared at his fingers, discerning the length of each outstretched finger. What was he supposed to say anyway? Thank you for buying my DVD? I look forward to your further patronage? He didn't say them of course. Should he text his co-star a message of thanks? Suicidal. It was stupid to think beyond the realm of possibility when it came to Ulquiorra Schiffer. He stayed as shut as a clam and pretended he heard none of it.

Not his father.

"Wow," Kurosaki Isshin commented. "I wouldn't even spend a yen on my son's movies!"


	27. Eccentric Love Parade

"It could not have been anything apart from a mere coincidence," Ulquiorra repeated for the sixth time that evening.

Grimmjow had held up a poster, unrolled it and spread it across the coffee table in the living room of Ulquiorra's apartment shortly after he arrived unannounced.

"Such a handsome poster," he sneered. "Why let it rot in a corner rolled up into a paper stick? What are you gonna use it for? Scratch your back? Slap some flies? Use it to wipe your ass?"

Ulquiorra snatched it back before he could continue.

"How fucking innovative." Grimmjow glowered.

"Crawl back to the hole where you belong," said the actor as he held onto the poster as though it was a family heirloom, an action which obviously didn't escape Grimmjow's attention.

"Aren't we getting a little _too_ possessive here," the taller man smirked.

"You could do worse, Grimmjow."

Which then Grimmjow grabbed the poster from his cousin and unrolled it again, this time jabbing a finger at the head of the man in the graphics - Kurosaki Ichigo as an infamous vampire, frowning, his mouth set in a determined line. The brooding countenance that set a million teenage hearts on fire. "What do you say," he narrowed his eyes at Ulquiorra, "if we put this up in your room so you can stare your fuckin' eyes off when nobody's looking." He continued to throw words that might incur the actor's wrath but nothing happened. "Or how about I mysteriously publish a photo of your room on Instagram? Or how about—" Words after words he threw at Ulquiorra and still nothing worked.

Because Ulquiorra was hardly listening—he focused on the instance where Grimmjow would loosen his grip on the poster and open up an opportunity for him to sneak the poster over to his side. He didn't like his belongings to bear the imprint of other people, much less having the original quality of them tarnished due to mishandling by idiots, especially loud-mouthed idiots. _The worst kind of humans around._ The green eyed man glared briefly at the fingerprint smears and the curved perforation shaped by the crescents of his cousin's nails spread over the movie poster like war scars, before turning to Grimmjow who was still ranting away.

"—what's the entire shit about this? Are you gonna lose out to a girl? So you gonna lose out because you don't have the tits to compete? Ha! Nah-" Grimmjow shook his head, the sneer wrapping itself across his face at tremendous speed. "Betcha _lack_ the balls to go get it. Go get what you want—that's what you're _dead_ afraid of. Always settling for the second best outcome you can get. Useless shit head." He unrolled the poster again and snarled at it. "You can have this shit back. I don't need to throw up my breakfast this early in the morn." He held out the poster, now sufficiently crumpled and dented in all the right places, and just as Ulquiorra was about to grab hold of it, he dropped the poster.

Grimmjow's lips curled into a feral grin.

His grin grew wider when he saw something strange flash through Ulquiorra's eyes as the raven-haired man stooped to pick up the almost torn poster, holding it gingerly as if it were a priceless heirloom.

"Lookin' hella sorry there, aren't you," Grimmjow snickered. "

Calmly, Ulquiorra straightened himself and stood face to face with his egotistical cousin. "I hope in the back of your mind lies a clarity to what had happened last month, and I have to admit this—it made me question the very fundamentals of your being."

"Don't fuckin' try to change the topic."

"I was helping you. You were simply too daft to see that."

"The topic here is you and that orangey bastard!"

"What is more pertinent is your issue with another. I trust that you've had a satisfying night."

"The fuck you know!" Grimmjow snapped before gathering his thoughts about what his cousin had just revealed. "What did you say?" He grabbed the front of the green eyed man's shirt and shook him to and fro. "What did you _just_ say?!"

Ulquiorra remained unfazed despite the rough shaking. "I saw you two that night. Passed out on the couch, all cosy and absolutely fulfilling in terms of physical endearment."

Grimmjow Jeagerjacques could only gape at him.

"Let me make this clear: I was not the only one there."

"What the _fuck_ did you see."

"Lust, perhaps?"

Panic invaded Grimmjow's mind.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Ulquiorra continued.

Grimmjow found his fingers slowly curling into balls by his side.

"In short, you were touching him," Ulquiorra explained, enunciating his words clearly and slowly, determined to provoke the taller man. "We saw everything."

"Like fuck you did."

"It seems that you have not heard me properly the first and second time. For the benefit of the doubt, I shall repeat: we saw everything."

Grimmjow tightened his grip on his cousin's shirt, his knuckles turning bone white. "Who's _we_?"

The cold glint in the actor's emerald eyes deepened. "Including what happened afterward. That should be something you alone should know, not a third party like me and another. But since the deed has been done, I do not think I am in any position not to open my mouth should Uncle or Aunt ask at our cousin's wedding two weeks later. I am not obliged to keep their son's affairs a secret from them. Or you could be none the wiser, given the ball of trash you call for a head sitting on your shoulders."

Grimmjow immediately paled but tried to camouflage it by certain means he called home by.

"I'm warning you—and I don't give a flying fuck who you are to me." He flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles so hard, his joints ached. "Sly bastard, why don't we fight it out. Just fucking fight it out man to man. I won't utter a word if you lose. How's that?"

"You can always try. You love to try, don't you?"

Grimmjow tossed the poster scroll on the floor and almost crushed it with his feet had Ulquiorra not been quick enough to snatch it up.

"Why bother, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra Schiffer dismissed him with a wave of the poster, now safe in his grasp. "Move." A tone curt and colourless and undiscerning between what ought or ought not be. "Or would you like to know more about that night? What happened between you and him. Perhaps I should reiterate this: I was not the only one there."

"Don't you fucking dare." Grimmjow refused to budge. "Wanna try? Or you just scared I'll wallop your fucking ass once and for all?"

"For as long as my memory permits, you have never won me," Ulquiorra replied icily. He held up a finger, then curled it down. "Not even once. And even now..." he paused to look his taller cousin in the eye. The latter's height had diminished so greatly that Ulquiorra found himself staring down at him as though he was a midget. And then knowing he had the opportunity to see the towering hulk of a grown man with occasional homicidal urges sink even deeper into the floor, he chose not to. He had other things to do, other things way more important than cutting that idiot down to his size. Satisfied with how Grimmjow now appeared to him, Ulquiorra started on the stairs to his bedroom, step by step, almost absentmindedly and checking every now and then that the movie poster was still with him.

Grimmjow Jeagerjacques stared at his cousin's retreating back, and for a moment, had almost forgotten how to cuss.

 

* * *

 

Back in the privacy of his own room, Ulquiorra attempted to smooth the dents with his cold palms, as if the chilliness would freeze time and restore the poster to its original condition. The green-eyed actor thanked his lucky stars that he had the foresight to tuck the unsavoury DVD under a pile of pyjamas in his wardrobe after watching it twice once he got home last night. The trilogy was nothing fascinating, the effects were watchable (Ulquiorra hadn't expected anything less of a $20 million budget), the story was plodding and unbelievable, the cinematography was an absolute joke, and the quality of the acting stretched his vocabulary limits for describing godawful things, but it was clear as day that Kurosaki Ichigo carried the movie on his shoulders and shone brightly. _Much like the sun itself._ Ulquiorra couldn't tear his eyes away from the carrot top each time he came onscreen and his insides flipped ever so slightly whenever Ichigo and the human girl were locked in a lovelorn embrace.

Side effects of viewing this absolute disgrace to the cinematic universe, Ulquiorra reminded himself.

Then again it was little wonder why the younger man was handpicked among dozens of hopefuls to partner him in Autumn Chrysalis. Ulquiorra Schiffer couldn't imagine being paired up with another actor. Due to his strange appearance, he had always been the solitary figure in the movies: the atheist, the amoral psychopath, the bewildering yet ascetically charming young man, the outsider in society, the impassive stranger, the empty man devoid of meaning. It was almost as if he was playing an extension of himself, another version of himself in a funhouse of varying alternate universes. His penchant for seclusion further stoked his reputation for such roles—he was so believable in them that he became them, each and every one of his roles. Autumn Chrysalis was the first movie he had to share equal (almost) screen time with a co-star, and on a less significant note, his first romantic role. What had pushed him towards a complete change of roles? Was a part of him desperately seeking change, to dash headlong into the wilderness and hoping to be beamed up by a glimmer of light?

No one would have _ever_ guessed that his first _ever_ kiss had been surrendered to a certain orange-haired man on the movie set months ago, before a live audience of unblinking eyes. He had been prepared—to do a bad job and to be chastised and then to pin the blame on his lesser counterpart—but nothing in his arsenal of strategic planning and acting repertoire had prepared him for what was to follow, and it was to the same man whom he had relinquished the second kiss, the third, fourth, fifth kisses and many many more.

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra Schiffer decided that the more he sought solace, the further solace left him. Circling him in a spot outside his trailer on a Monday morning like an enclave of ravenous vultures were journalists, foreign and local alike and decidedly from hell; men and women and minions of the devil, clutching voice recorders and thrusting them toward him, demanding of him and at the same time encroaching on his disappearing acre of space. No one was around at this time of the day. Everyone was either on the way or out for breakfast at the studio's canteen. Just when he thought it was time to step out of his trailer for a breather he was surrounded immediately, like a mass murder suspect stepping out of the police van, en route to the court for trial.

What had he done again to warrant such treatment, Ulquiorra sighed inwardly. He had appeared early on the set without makeup so he could perhaps catch...well _perhaps_...someone in action and _perhaps_ if time and his guts permitted, squeeze out some interaction time with...that someone, give him one or two comments on what he thought of his acting in the vampire trilogy after a less than objective analysis. Wait—less objective? What kind of a phrase was that? Warning: fallacious logic at hand. When in the world did such poor thoughts creep into his dictionary?

Disappear dastardly voice, Ulquiorra chided himself. Disappear altogether now.

He closed his eyes and heaved in huge doses of air. Quips and jibes from those pesky reporters sounded like mere cries from a distance. Still that did nothing for his present state of mind. Everything used to be clear cut, black and white and he never had to bother with affairs of the—dare he say—heart.

Ulquiorra knew he was trapped in the midst of these contemptible reporters and there wasn't much he could do about it. He thought it better to shift his thoughts onto something else, so he imagined what he would do for the scene scheduled to be filmed that afternoon. A scene that had generated much speculation over the ratings fate of the movie, and certainly garnered far more than its fair share of heat following the much publicised altercation they had and then, an unexpected turn of affairs in their relationship with unnamed sources stepping up to confirm they had indeed seen Ulquiorra and Ichigo in a motel together.

What a pain it was becoming, he thought. Was this not about shooting a movie and where everyone peels off the skins of their characters when the clapper is sounded and go home to their cats and books? Then what was with those spates of hollowness he felt spreading from where his heart lay, wasn't as if he had just began to live on his own. He had been doing so since he was eighteen, no big deal about that. Sakana was there for him too, and he was the type of guy who preferred solitude over extending himself to a group of people, no matter how sizeable it may be. He liked to be alone and there was that. But lately he realised something else: just as how silence have different shades to it, being alone harboured different layers too.

What was happening to him anyway? Ulquiorra opened his eyes and stared straight at one of the reporters but not quite staring exactly at him. More of staring beyond him, his gaze superimposing images onto the slate of unfurnished wall. What was he thinking about now? He had been thinking so much about strange things lately. Expended too much grey matter about the intangible strands and chasing them into the dark. Before he could stop himself, his brain swerved in odd directions at lighting speed.

Ulquiorra Schiffer found himself rolling back the months at furious speed. Worrying over the choice of actor as his onscreen lover? Worried about making the wrong decision in his movie career and go down in history as the man whose movie ranked worse than the godawful vampire trilogy? Biting his tongue when he realised he was on the verge of sacrificing his public reputation as the cold and quiet man whenever the orange-haired actor was nearby? It was almost a primal need to taunt that guy. He had no reason to, did he? Looking back it had seemed childish—the name calling, the almost infantile refusal to work with the teen star. Ulquiorra winced at the memory. _He_ was being a prick—he had been an absolute and tedious one—until some degree of conscience knocked on the door. Was he jealous of the younger man's vibrant aura and how it affected people around him? How could he be, when he, Ulquiorra Schiffer, was clearly superior to the younger man in every way? Ulquiorra's mind was bordering on pure hogwash. What else was he thinking about now? The not too distant past when he had a proper companion (sorry Sakana)? Did he even need companionship? The best kind came in the form of a cat, a gently purring kind who went about their own business mostly. The green-eyed actor felt his head spinning. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Implausibility bred imbecility. There was nothing—absolutely nothing on his mind. Ulquiorra Schiffer felt oddly reassured by the self-hypnosis until his mind decided to stage a revolt in the dying seconds.

"Everything," his mind retorted in gasps. "You are thinking about everything now."

_I do not wish to hear you speak anymore, why are you so obstinate and when did you become as intrusive and talkative as that Kurosaki Ich-_

Before he could finish, the man in question came through the door, his bright head of orange hair spiffy and teased at the right angles. That familiar cocky grin on his lightly tanned face. And those eyes, warm like hot chocolate. _Like a beam of sunshine._ Ulquiorra didn't once take his eyes off the younger man nor did he attempt to do otherwise. Continued to stare straight at Ichigo with the same impassive look he wore always, but the object of his stare fest knew better. Ichigo immediately felt a heightened consciousness of his entire being: striding into the movie set with his beautiful model girlfriend in tow, her hand in his—

Ichigo grimaced inwardly. _Let go of her hand NOW!_ —his mind screamed, only for him to react by tightening his grip on Orihime's hand, much to the latter's surprise.

Nothing escaped Ulquiorra's eyes. How Ichigo had suddenly stiffened in his presence. How the tiniest of movements, indiscernible to the casual observer, had burst into huge proportions of significance. In fact there was an intensity burning behind those normally cold green orbs and it radiated off him in toxic waves, causing the nosy reporters to back off one by one, parting a path in the circle for the two scandalised actors to face each other. Grimmjow's words two mornings ago echoed in his mind and the more he saw Ichigo and Orihime together, the hotter his insides burnt.

Ichigo found himself rooted to the ground, staring back at his co-star, trying to decipher what was going on in his mind. Moments passed before he realised he had actually released his grip on Orihime's hand. Electricity filled the air. The reporters studied the tense expressions on both men, their gazes filled with tabloid glee. Everyone was so absorbed in the scene that nobody had noticed a dark shadow looming over the scene with a clipboard in hand. The shadow moved excessively quick, first sweeping the horde of reporters out of the movie set, then thwacking Ichigo on the back of the head, and then Ulquiorra's.

"Oi! What was that for?" Ichigo yelled in surprise, grabbing his head.

"Soi Fon…" Ulquiorra mumbled under his breath, clearly not too pleased about being hit either. "I should have been more alert."

Soi Fon stood before them furiously. "I hate to say this to the two of you—and especially you," she cast a pointed glance at Ulquiorra, "that I'm solely in charge on the set. Which means, whoever misbehaves or get into the way of the production process, will be duly punished. Childish turds however, will receive double the punishment, since you never ever learn."

Both actors stayed quiet, dropping their glances to the floor. Orihime couldn't help but smile at how morose the two men looked.

"What amuses you so, young lady?" Soi Fon demanded. "I'm afraid you can't stay here any longer. We got to get moving quick."

Orihime nodded. "Sorry to bother you. I will be on my way now." She broke into a small gentle smile. "Kurosaki-kun, all the best for your scenes later!"

Ulquiorra bristled at her words.

Ichigo held up a hand and tried to look as casual as he could. "Catch you later."

As the actors were ushered back to their trailers to prepare for filming, coincidentally the last lovemaking scene in the movie, its director lurked in one corner of the set, humming a tune as he skimmed through the script for the day.

It's going to be a wonderful day, the blonde man grinned. Something _wow_ is in the works.


	28. Jitterbug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: BLEACH belongs to Tite Kubo. I'm only borrowing his characters for a bit of fun.

**Chapter 28 - Jitterbug**

Ichigo hadn't expected himself to let go, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. Holding his raven-haired co-star in his arms, letting his fingertips skirt along the defined contours of the other man's face; their lips, _oh their lips,_ pushing ever so dangerously against each other, as if daring the other to break the boundaries of reality, as if they had a point to prove.

 _Don't you dare wake up from this,_ their actions seemed to suggest.

The heat bubbling so long underneath the two men's skins started to boil, desperately waiting for this moment to break through the surface. People usually ham up once a camera is shoved in front of their faces, but for the two men currently under the spotlight, they sought refuge in the warm gaze of multiple cameras, free to be themselves and not fear judgment of any sort. They could love each other with everything they had. Onscreen, that is. The two men, in the guise of their characters, could very well be oblivious to what they really looked like in the eyes of others. Those pairs of eyes, belonging to movie professionals and amateurs circling the film set, as well as a certain Inoue Orihime's, were transfixed by what was unfolding before them. Barely three months ago, the same scene was filmed and it had been a complete wreck, threatening to tear the production apart. Now, those same pairs of eyes had to avert their gaze from the scene before them that threatened to escalate temperatures in the room. They felt like voyeurs, prying into the recesses of man's deepest desires. Orihime started to wish that she had left the studio when asked by Soi Fon earlier, but no, the popular model made a U-turn before she stepped out of the production facility, choosing to stay back and watch her 'boyfriend' film one of his last scenes with his co-star. For once she could see how he looked like when in love.

Orihime had expected to feel marginally uncomfortable at the level of contact on display; it was after all a lovemaking scene, but she definitely wasn't expecting _this_. Seeing her pretend boyfriend and the man of her dreams being overwhelmed by another, his body flowing to said person's caresses, eyes closed in a twisted flux of imagination and desire, sent a chill running down her spine. Orihime tried to look away at one point but her gaze was met with piercing green orbs that implored attention at once. She gulped as Ulquiorra held their eye contact while he slowly kissed Ichigo's neck, running his tongue along the exposed flesh then gently nipped at the bare skin with his lips, before cutting her off by pressing Ichigo against himself, eliciting a surprised moan from the carrot top. The model was taken aback by the ferocity of the raven haired actor's glare. They barely knew each other, so why did the normally dispassionate man looked at her as if he wanted to tear into her chest and rip out her heart altogether?

And then, slowly piecing the puzzle together, Orihime finally understood.

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere, in the other part of the studio, a reddened Hiyori whispered to her director, "Should we yell cut already? I'm really really really sure _that_ wasn't in the script!"

Shinji clamped a hand over Hiyori's mouth and continued to watch the scene with great interest, his eyes widening with every turn. "This is some serious movie voodoo going on." He motioned for the cameramen to keep rolling. He sure as hell was going to keep this scene in the final cut. "I've been waiting so long for this! My dear Hiyori-chan, there's something you need to know, if you want to make the step up in producing." Shinji peered askance at his sullen assistant, who was trying to slap his hand away. "You gotta learn this — knowing when to capture that exact moment when true passion explodes on the reel. Once it comes you can't stop it, and trust me, there's nothing quite as splendid as catching the full spectrum of human intensity on film reels."

Hiyori folded her arms and said nothing. Shinji grinned in response to his silent victory, his hand still clamped over her mouth.

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo had never been more pleased in his life to hear the movie clapper snap, breaking the silence that had engulfed the studio since they started filming. He needed noises, background blabbing, anything but the sound of his own mind, to clear his thoughts. Ichigo's breath ran ragged from a marathon make-out session with his co-star in front of countless pairs of eyes, and he could feel his body shuddering from unwanted thoughts that must had crept into his subconscious when filming. Sure enough both men were in character the whole time, but the bodies responding eagerly to each other's touches were theirs — no way in hell could Ichigo deny that. The sensations he felt were too real to be feigned, or, knowing how obsessively methodical Ulquiorra Schiffer could get over acting, they were deliberately feigned to look real.

Gingerly, Ichigo raised a finger to his lips, still trembling slightly from the bruising kiss earlier. No wait, it wasn't even kissing anymore. The carrot top felt as though his lips were slammed against and ravaged again and again, devoured by a man hungry for his taste. He had never been kissed like that before, and it left him wanting more. And then there was that…if Ichigo wasn't imagining things, a split-second where his co-star's soft tongue flicked across his neck…

Ichigo felt his face threaten to explode and gave himself a few slaps. That bloody gutter of a mind would be the absolute death of him someday.

Now that he was no longer enveloped in Ulquiorra's embrace, he could steady his nerves, exhale, and leave this set in one piece. There were still scenes needing to be filmed, and yes—that must be it. He was in character; he had to stay in the skin of the other. He must not slip up. No, not now. Kurosaki Ichigo was Murakami Yoshihito, the idealistic young samurai in love with his best friend, who just happened to look like Ulquiorra Schiffer.

"Whoa there," Shinji called as he approached Ichigo. "Trying to hit the bedevils out of your head? Can't afford you turning amnesiac before we wrap up filming. Kuchiki-san will _absolutely_ have my neck on the guillotine."

Ichigo immediately placed both offending hands under the crooks of his knees, alarmed that he had been caught acting stupidly on the set. "N-Nothing of that sort, Blondie!"

Shinji smirked. "Great job just now," he said after a while.

"I'm just glad it didn't suck," Ichigo puffed.

"I knew you had it in you, Vampy Boy. That was quite the…" Shinji's smirk grew wider as he watched Ichigo fidget under his scrutiny. " _Eyeopener._ "

Knowing the orange-haired man, his words were of course met with vehement denial.

"Oi, crazy blondie, don't exaggerate! It's just another scene!" Ichigo prattled on and on, the flush never leaving his cheeks. "Just. Another. Scene!" He repeated for emphasis. "We're filming the next one in an hour's time, yeah? So don't get too excited just yet!"

"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that," the blonde director murmured under his breath.

Ichigo's head snapped up. "What?"

"Nothin'."

Forgetting that the blonde director was standing next to him, Ichigo unwittingly turned his gaze to his co-star, watching intently as two on-set stylists removed the wig from Ulquiorra's head, shaking free those silky raven tresses, then massaged some treatment oil into them before wrapping his hair lightly in a towel. Ulquiorra had his eyes closed the whole time. Then and there, the infamous pinkish plumes loomed into sight once more, surrounding a certain green-eyed actor as he dabbed at his mouth with tissue while the stylists tended to him. Ichigo's heart thumped million miles a minute just by sneaking glances at Ulquiorra. The green eyed actor's lips were red as a freshly plucked tomato and his cheeks, just a dash of scarlet. Would the man blush deeper if Ichigo were to walk up and snog him to the end of the world—

**WAIT.**

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Shinji's voice cut into the carrot top's thoughts.

_Oh shit._

"Who wouldn't want him?" Shinji again, in a sing-song tone.

_Double-whammy shit._

Ichigo's heart thumped so fast, he thought it was going to burst open and there was no stopping it. He was growing more and more perturbed by the bizarre sensations plaguing him and to his chagrin, no amount of face-slapping or self-chastising could salvage his sanity anymore. Was he still in character or was he just using it as an excuse to unabashedly indulge in his co-star? And what was he thinking—especially when Ulquiorra had made very clear his views on Ichigo that chilly afternoon at the studio park?

Ichigo swallowed hard. He couldn't tell anymore.

All he knew was this: being near Ulquiorra Schiffer was dangerous and unnecessary.

 

* * *

 

Shinji Hirako swore he was talking about his new camera.

 

* * *

 

"Did I overdo it?" was the first question that came to Ulquiorra after filming paused in the late afternoon for a much needed respite. He had noticed how his younger co-star was purposely avoiding him once they were off-screen, nervously breaking into a cacophony of dry coughs and clasping of hands before scuttling away whenever Ulquiorra so far moved an inch toward him. It had been that way since the morning, after they had filmed an epic lovemaking scene, the last in the script. Ulquiorra thought their scene went well. In fact, it was much better than he had expected, and to an inadmissible extent, relishable. Yes, he might had taken advantage of Orihime's presence at the set to boost his performance, and in a moment of spite, he wanted to show her who truly possessed Kurosaki Ichigo, if only for the pithiest of moments and especially since it was one of the last scenes they would share before the camera.

What a weak victory, he thought. Weak and inconsequential.

Now that he had calmed down in his personal trailer, he was mortified at his actions. Mortified by everything that transpired in the morning: his astounding lack of self-control, his complete absence of professionalism and most of all, by Ichigo's lack of resistance towards his unwarranted advances during filming. What was the carrot top thinking when he allowed Ulquiorra to kiss him like that? Did he like it? Did he decide to put up with it because they were onset? Or did he regret it?

Ichigo's twitchy reaction post-filming had only confirmed Ulquiorra's worst fears: he had indeed gone too far.

If this continued, Ulquiorra was certain that the younger man would never talk to him again. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, and how such a probable course of action would affect him. Their last interaction was more than a week ago outside the movie studio, and as days passed, he wished he had not reacted the way he did back then. Weeks before this Ulquiorra had countlessly told himself that he didn't do regrets, but, who knew, a voice in the back of his mind was growing stronger of late. Terribly clever people sometimes do terribly stupid things, often due to ego or rampant emotions, and wind up wrecking the relationships that matter most. At this very moment there were more questions than answers, but one thing he knew for sure: he didn't want that thin thread of something he shared with Ichigo, no matter what it was or might turn out to be, to end just yet. Ulquiorra knew he needed to do something about it.

He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a sheet depicting the week's production schedule. Ichigo's filming schedule would end four hours after his. In other words, Ulquiorra had four hours to brace himself for something he had never done before.

 

* * *

 

Kurosaki Ichigo didn't bother stifling his lung-bursting yawns as he walked toward his silver Impreza in the basement parking lot. He had been filming for nearly sixteen hours straight! He knew he looked ridiculous when he yawned with his mouth wide open and his eyes runny with sleepy tears, but he knew there was no one left at this hour. His nose was red from the cold, his lips were cracking, and he was wearing socks with slippers. Ichigo puffed out cold air into his black scarf knitted by Yuzu, only to almost knock himself out with his own breath. Man, when was the last time he had a sip of water?

Whatever. Screw image. Screw idol status. They can all go to hell.

Then, an all-too familiar voice came from behind him.

"You're here."

 _Damn it!_ Ichigo cursed. He didn't need to turn around to see who was talking to him. It had been the longest day of his life, and the very man he'd been trying high and low to avoid chose to spring a shocker on him. And he looked like shit. That was the worst— he really looked like shit; probably smelled like one too. His last scene for the day required him to be clad in full body armour, and he had perspired a great deal in the heavy suit. So without a second thought, Ichigo casually waved a 'hey there grim reaper' and before Ulquiorra could reply, he sped toward his car, desperate to get away, hoping those footsteps behind him would stop and go away. But they didn't; the owner of those footsteps was one persistent man.

"Kurosaki," Ulquiorra said quietly. "Wait."

Ichigo retrieved his car keys from his bag and pressed. _Beep!_ The headlights of his car flickered. Ichigo continued to walk toward his car and pulled up the scarf bundled around his neck to his nose, pretending not to hear Ulquiorra calling after him.

"I said, wait."

Ichigo continued to play deaf and made a beeline for his car. _Stop following me stop following me stop following me._

But Ulquiorra was not someone to be brushed aside easily. In a few quick strides he caught up with Ichigo, and in a matter of seconds he overtook Ichigo and swiftly held his position between the car and its owner. Ulquiorra stood before the driver's door of the silver Impreza, blocking Ichigo from entry.

Ichigo exhaled sharply. "What?"

"I asked you to wait."

"I'm waiting—waiting to go home. I'm waiting to take a nice long bath and brush my teeth and eat some food and then sleep my ass off," Ichigo shot irritably. "So what is it? What do you want?"

"You have been avoiding me."

"You are imagining things. It's been an awfully long day, go back and get some rest. I sure as hell am getting mine, so can you step out of the way?"

Ulquiorra remained unperturbed. "Were you offended by the scene this morning?"

"Offended?!" Ichigo's self-defence mechanism kicked in instantly. "Oh please. We have done that so many times, so what makes you think I'll squirm at your touch? I'm not a schoolboy!"

"I never said you were. I just thought that you were uncomfortable with what I did. After all, it was something we did not do before and I had not sought your prior consent."

Ichigo took the chance to back away from Ulquiorra. Not once had he met Ulquiorra's eyes, but that didn't stop those retarded pink plumes from creeping into his vision. Ichigo was sorely tempted to pull up his scarf all the way to the top of his head and disappear right away.

"Whatever's done is done. It's all for the movie anyway. No big deal."

"Then why did you avoid me?"

"Hey, look who's talking." _If anything, you're the one who's been ignoring me._

"I did not mean to go that far. If I made you uncomfortable in any way, I…"

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut, willing his thoughts to go away. Unbecoming thoughts that threatened to embarrass him in front of a man who could compartmentalize his emotions, that is, if he had any. "Like I said, it doesn't matter. After all, weren't you the one who said that a sex scene is just like a well-constructed action sequence?"

"Like an action scene where you are not supposed to really hit your sparring partner, there are also boundaries in a lovemaking sequence."

Ichigo pulled down his scarf in frustration, temporarily forgetting the cold.

"OK, fine. Why are you so damn proper about these things? Can't you just leave it at 'Oh god I really love this man and I'm going to die soon so I'll just have one final hurrah with him?' Can't you just accept that I also played a man who loves that dying idiot and doesn't mind whatever he's doing to his body, since in the end everyone dies anyway? So what if you got more physical with me on the set? Am I so weak that a little bit of intimacy will kill me? Don't get too ahead of yourself!"

The carrot top regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth—he was already halfway through 23 years of age and his tendency of not filtering his brain before he spoke still had not changed. The cutting silence enveloping him only deepened his regrets. His head began to spin from the cold and lack of rest. He couldn't even remember if he had lunch.

"Alright. I won't probe anymore," Ulquiorra conceded. "But I still do not understand why you disregarded my attempts to approach you today."

"Why? Does it bother you? Or did you forget what you told me that day at the park outside the studio? That we are no more than two actors enacting a scene?"

Ulquiorra took a step forward until they were no more than an arm's length away from each other.

"You should never have brought that woman to the set." Ulquiorra's voice rose barely beyond a whisper in the empty carpark. The stillness of his voice starkly contrasted with Ichigo's heated tone of earlier. And despite Ulquiorra's words, his tone wasn't accusatory. Rather, he sounded defeated.

For the first time since filming that morning, Ichigo looked at Ulquiorra. The raven's nose was just as red, if not a smidge redder than his, and his face was far paler than usual. Strangely, the pink plumes surrounding Ulquiorra had vanished. All that was left of the famously demanding actor was a forlorn figure in a simple dark green coat and a brown dress shirt with matching pants. Ichigo stared at his co-star, unblinkingly, even as the shorter man reached out to adjust Ichigo's scarf, which now lay in a haphazard blob around his blue down jacket. Ulquiorra unfolded the ends of the scarf and rounded it twice around Ichigo's neck, making sure that it wasn't too tight nor too loose. Then he tied a small knot to secure the scarf and tucked the ends inside Ichigo's jacket.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Your voice is nasal," Ulquiorra explained. "If you don't cover your neck properly, you will end up disrupting the filming schedule again."

"Since when did you become my surrogate mom?"

Ulquiorra stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Don't be ridiculous, Kurosaki."

"Says the one who's dressed for the autumn fashion runway when it's winter."

"I am fine."

Without thinking, Ichigo touched Ulquiorra's cheek with his fingertips. "How can anyone be so inhumanely cold?" he barked in surprise. "Just how long have you been out here?"

Taken aback by Ichigo's sudden touch, Ulquiorra dropped his gaze and focused on his watch instead. "Three hours, fifty-two minutes and thirty-nine seconds," he replied.

"Are you stupid? Seriously. Can't you go elsewhere? And what's with that precise answer? Oh wait—that's so you."

"I was waiting for you."

"Yeah yeah, even so you could have just waited somewhere warm."

"I am fine with where I am," Ulquiorra insisted as he stepped aside to allow Ichigo entry into his car.

The familiar confident smirk began to slip back on Ichigo's face. "You always want to have the last say, don't you?"

"I merely state the facts. Besides, I have completed what I came here to do."

Giving Ichigo one last look before the younger man got into the driver's seat and revved up the engine, Ulquiorra added in a voice so soft that only he could hear it: "Good night."


	29. Magic In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: BLEACH belongs to Kubo Tite.

_"You should never have brought that woman to the set."_

These words reverberated in Ichigo's mind for several nights after he last spoke with his co-star at the parking lot.

Of course Ichigo knew who the raven was referring to, but what exactly did Ulquiorra mean by that? Was Ulquiorra unhappy that the movie set had been breached by an outsider, much akin to the dissatisfaction he had shown Ichigo at the initial stages of the production? Was Ulquiorra blaming Ichigo for his so-called misdemeanor on the set—and if so, if no one found anything wrong with the filming, then there was nothing to worry about, right?

That was the logical flow of things, Ichigo told himself as he struggled to fall asleep night after night. Ulquiorra Schiffer was just being difficult for not sticking to the script in his head. Not to mention his alarming lack of common sense—who in their right mind would wait in a dimly lit place in the beginnings of winter? What if Ichigo never turned up? Would Ulquiorra just wait it out like the idiot he was? What was he thinking? Did he forget about a vicious killer called Hypothermia, who boasted a high body count? And instead of wrapping himself in a thick coat, he chose to re-adjust Ichigo's scarf.

If Ulquiorra was an idiot, then Ichigo had to be a bigger idiot for losing sleep over this crap.

And yet, despite the criticism strewn at himself, Ichigo couldn't understand it at all. He couldn't understand why Ulquiorra wouldn't leave him be, when Ichigo himself wanted to distance him from the raven. And Ichigo needed sleep. But when he finally managed to sleep, Ulquiorra Schiffer appeared in his dreams.

* * *

Principal photography for 'Autumn Chrysalis' was completed three weeks after the night when Ulquiorra Schiffer gathered all his wits and trampled upon his ego with all intention to apologise for something he had sort of regretted doing. The words he'd meant to say never left his lips, even though the intent was there, or so Ulquiorra had convinced himself. The intent to apologise started off poorly, and he ended up saying too much, but in his very honest opinion, things didn't end too badly. Because, at last, his co-star was behaving more normally around him and not dodging his approaches at the slightest chance. Or perhaps, that was a falsehood, and Ichigo was willing to do anything just to get home at the tiniest chance. Whichever it might be, Ulquiorra ended up with a persistent bout of flu. It left him bedridden and incoherent for at least three days.

So, for the first time in his life, Ulquiorra found himself caught in a nightmarish kaleidoscope where he became different persons, twisting his appearance and quirky behaviours into the people who surrounded Ichigo — namely a certain Inoue Orihime.

On restless nights as Ulquiorra lay at rest from the flu, he pictured the words Orihime would say to Ichigo in his own monotonous voice, and the response he might evoke from the younger man. On other nights he saw himself as Abarai Renji and mimicked in his mind the boisterous redhead's crude and direct language churning from his own thin lips. As the nights pressed on, he imagined himself as the actress (whose name he didn't bother to find out) fawning over Ichigo in the vampire-human romance trilogy, his impassive green eyes adorned with little hearts as the object of his affections appeared in a Dracula getup amid swathes of pink plumes.

In the mornings following these outlandish thoughts, Ulquiorra woke up feeling as though he had been punched in the throat repeatedly. Needless to say that following his delusion-fraught recovery from the flu, he wasn't the most sprightly person to deal with on the set thereafter, shrinking into a more tedious version of his usual sullen self once the cameras were off. When in the privacy of his own trailer, he practised lines — not for the movie, but what he would say when (if) he ran into Ichigo in the studio. Should he aim for a more casual Hey there! type of wave typical of the younger star and his brood, or the usual cool greeting carelessly thrown out as he breeze past without once looking up? Now that nightfall was no longer playing tricks on his mind, Ulquiorra bristled at the thought of him speaking in someone else's voice.

Absolutely impossible.

Once he looked himself in the mirror and attempted to push back his fringe for a different look. He was speechless at his own reflection and swore never to do such a thing again. Regardless, the green eyed actor would try to be less caustic and be more sincere in his words. He would aim for more directness and less prancing about the bush. If possible, he could even try for a touch of humour, since that was Ichigo's type of thing — hang on, was he trying to please the younger man?

Of course, these were just thoughts, unspoken and hidden in the chasms of one's excessive imagination, and Ulquiorra didn't yet have the chance to try them out. He hadn't seen Ichigo for nearly two weeks now — they were each busy with filming their scenes with the Choshu clan and the Shinsengumi, respectively.

On that thought, Ulquiorra Schiffer mulled it over for the next couple of nights as he sipped tea with Sakana curled up next to him on the settee. His cat had grown as fond of the settee as he did, eschewing the comfort of his study to read in the living room ever since the furniture was purchased by a certain carrot top. His copy of the latest Unohana Retsu novel had been lying untouched on the side table. At the turn of every page he found his mind wandering back to the carrot top with fire in his hazel eyes, the heated gaze sometimes burning his own as they met; other times a soft flame lighting the darkest of nights. Ulquiorra was like a moth drawn to that soft flame, craving the light and warmth it brought.

In three months he would be leaving for a country on the other side of the Pacific Ocean without knowing if he would return, and yet, America felt like the furthest thing on his mind.

* * *

Ichigo had been busy when he wasn't filming. As the production schedule wound down while December trickled in, he found himself spending mornings and nights popping in DVD after DVD of Ulquiorra's movies, watching them in the privacy of his room. He had snuck them in from the living room when no one was at home. One of the few perks associated with his job — he had free time when everyone else was whittling away at their day jobs or stuck in school. Ichigo had no clue what suddenly came over him to want to watch all of his talented co-star's films, and if he had purely wanted to do some homework, he would have done it long ago. Maybe it was the exhaustion from the final lap of shooting. Maybe it was the insane boredom that came after the adrenaline rush of putting in his best performances for the silver screen. Because, what else could explain the fact that he had watched each film at least thrice?

The first time he alternated between thrill at the dense and intriguing storylines his co-star had chosen, and awe at how smoothly Ulquiorra had disappeared into his characters. He couldn't keep his eyes off the screen either: the quiet man had such an imposing screen presence, that every frame he was in simply implored you to surrender your full attention.

The second time he began to take notes: pacing, dialogue, delivery, intonation, movement, and other techniques that Ulquiorra cleverly employed before the screen. Techniques that the green-eyed actor had unexpectedly taught him during those unforgettable three weeks. Ichigo had an acting coach for his first couple of movies and he had learnt a bit — but to be relentlessly trained by undoubtedly one of Japan's finest actors on an individual basis had opened his eyes to the endless possibilities of bringing a character to life, not to mention the sheer amount of hard work involved. For the first time in his budding career, he felt he had gained some sort of credibility to his name. Ichigo was pretty sure that he had stepped foot on the first rung of the ladder to reach Ulquiorra, at least, in terms of acting prowess.

The third time he was reduced to counting the number of possibly intimate moments that Ulquiorra shared with his co-stars onscreen. No matter how he paused and stared and scooted close up to the screen and continued staring, there was nothing of note. The closest contact he had with anyone in the movies was in the form of a half-hearted hug displayed by the sociopathic anti-hero he played in the film that propelled him to fame three years ago. Ichigo paused the scene and frowned at his own reflection in the black of the screen.

Did that mean he had taken Ulquiorra's first onscreen kiss? Or maybe, knowing how indifferent his co-star was toward everyone in real life, he had unintentionally snatched away the man's first ever kiss when their lips accidentally touched during the Sweetcorn Incident? But why him, Kurosaki Ichigo, a complete stranger turned human sandbag turned remotely adequate actor?

Possibilities and their countless combinations raced through Ichigo's mind as he dived headlong onto his bed and buried himself under the blanket. In the darkened privacy of his blanket, Ichigo traced a quivering finger along the outline of his lips. He could still remember the softness of his co-star's lips and how they filled his own so easily, so naturally, and left him so wanting, as though he could never kiss anyone again.

* * *

The confusion Ichigo felt towards his green-eyed co-star continued to ripple into his dreams. To put it more accurately, his dreams felt like an extension of each dream before it, with no clear ending in sight.

His dreams all began at the same place: a strange setting where pastel pink plumes loomed around a deserted cave that rested on the edge of a cliff. In these dreams Ichigo was always sitting on a chair carved from grey slate, placed at a distance from the entrance of the cave. From where he sat, he was close enough to spot any movement in and out of the cave. Time passed fluidly in the dreams, and his senses informed that he had been watching the cave entrance for several days, weeks, months even. In each dream, Ichigo found himself drifting nearer and nearer to the cave, as if carried forward by the currents of time. And then one night, Ichigo found himself inside the cave.

Wandering through the stalactite filled cavern, he came to a resting point where the same plumes gathered in dense clouds. Hidden behind the plumes was a man whose eyes were pools of green so brilliant that they lit up the dark. His skin was pale, bordering on white, and he had long black hair pulled up into a ponytail. Clad in the trademark light blue haori of the Shinsengumi, the man stood there unmoving, as if he had been waiting for a long time.

_Takamatsu?_ Ichigo heard himself ask.

The green eyed man didn't say anything. He reached for Ichigo through the plumes to pull him into an embrace. As if bounded by a force of nature, their lips met and for a long time, at least in the dream, they stayed that way. When Ichigo's hands searched the lines of the man's face, he felt with a start, as the layers of the man's painfully pale face fell away like the last blossoms of spring.

* * *

Ulquiorra was supposed to depart for Hokkaido that weekend for a cousin's wedding, but his mother had called two nights ago, saying in a weepy voice that the wedding was postponed until further notice.

"I guess they aren't marrying each other anymore," Mrs Schiffer added as an afterthought. "What a pity! Your cousin and her boyfriend were high school sweethearts and the perfect match in every way."

"Would you still be expecting me in Hokkaido for the new year?" Ulquiorra asked instead, unperturbed by the fact that there was no wedding to be held.

"It's fine, Quiqui. I'll come find you in spring before you leave for the States," his mother said. "Since your Uncle and Aunt Jeagerjacques are still coming over, we have made plans to drive around Hokkaido in search of the best Alaskan crabs for our little new year's feast."

"Can I still come over this weekend? It is Christmas after all."

"What is a woman to do when her son wants to see her? I'll be waiting with piping hot food to stave off the Hokkaido chill," Mrs Schiffer said in a sing-song tune before changing into that near gossipy tone mothers always use whenever they want to pry something out of their children. "So, how are things between you two?"

"You mean Sakana and I?"

Mrs Schiffer chortled. "Don't play the fool with me, Quiqui. I'm your mother, not one of those naive reporters you twirl around your little finger."

Ulquiorra grimaced slightly, his grip tightening on the receiver. There was no worming out of this.

"He—We are fine." That was true.

His mother gave a noncommittal snort over the phone.

"He—We did not have time to meet recently." That was also true.

A prolonged wave of silence fell over them before his mother launched into a barrage of accusations.

"Are you saying things have cooled off between Ichi-kun and you? How can you be so irresponsible? I didn't raise you to be like this!"

The green eyed man thought for a moment that his mother sounded furious with him.

"You'd better do something about it, Ulquiorra Schiffer." Mrs Schiffer pressed on. "That fine young gent is one hell of a catch. Don't be —"

"Mother, we are just busy with filming," Ulquiorra cut in. "We barely have enough time for rest."

Ulquiorra had no idea why he continued to indulge his mother in this falsehood. He was just glad that it wasn't a face-to-face conversation with the ever observant lady of fifty-four years.

"That's complete nonsense! He can always sleep over at your place, or you at his! Do something together — eat, chat, even fall asleep watching the TV together! I'm sure you two should be very comfortable with each other by now. Being busy and having no time for each other is just an excuse for those who can't be bothered to try anymore. Not making the time and effort for each other is the biggest problem, and I don't want that to happen to the both of you as well."

Not making the time and effort? Ulquiorra perused the words in the back of his mind. Can't be bothered to try? If only Mother had seen me at the parking lot that night…

"That's why your cousin wanted out of the marriage. It's such a pity," the elder Schiffer lamented. "They were each other's first loves but in the end they just got too complacent in the relationship, putting off what's important to the very end, thinking that the other person will accommodate their wishes no matter what.

"Her ex-fiance is such a workaholic, so she always has to meet him late at night for a quick dinner, or early on Sunday mornings before he leaves for business trips. When you're young and have time on your side, everything looks rosy and you just have this feeling that this kind of love is enough to last your entire lives. You're so happy with him around. You think you can change him, and he promises to change. In the end she didn't want to be stuck in a loveless marriage where the guy's definition of 'love' is spending maximum hours at work and the bare minimum at home. They don't even talk much anymore! That's easily a red flag for any failing relationship. You hear that, Ulquiorra Schiffer?"

"Since she saw the end coming, why did she wait until now to terminate their relationship?"

"If only things were that simple," Mrs Schiffer explained. "A dying relationship is like a couple stuck in a vehicle that wouldn't move. You get off the car and try to get it moving again with every last bit of strength you've got, only to find after a heaving push that your partner is dozing off in the front seat. You start asking, why should I do all the work and get nothing out of it?"

"That is a logical query."

Mrs Schiffer couldn't help but laugh at her son's remark.

"Well," she continued, "sometimes people don't even know that they have lost what was between them. You can't chase back feelings that were already gone. Perhaps the wedding forced your cousin to think more clearly about their situation, that they were just going through the motions of being in a relationship, and the next step is just to get married and have kids."

Confusion plagued Ulquiorra's mind. Since he was a teen he had disliked such talk. When people chirped about their infatuations in school, he shunned them by either plugging into his music player or left the room altogether. He didn't care for chocolates or letters left in his locker. He flatly turned down all confessions. All he knew that feelings for another person were a strange thing to have. They make you irrational, illogical. They cause your temperament to swing more wildly than the change of tides. They turn people into bizarre and imperceptible creatures who would do anything just to get their loved one to look at them; to do things that have never crossed their minds in their desperation to stay within their beloved's orbit.

And yet, he had been meaning to ask a question for the longest time, since the night when he was ensnared in a rare moment of weakness and kissed his co-star on the lips. He didn't have the guts to mention it, or rather, he was too ignorant to understand what transpired back then.

If anything, Ulquiorra was grateful that the younger man hadn't mentioned it anymore after his initial stuttering the next day, be it out of embarrassment or something he wished had never happened. Perhaps Ichigo had recalled the stunned silence between the two right after the incident, and decided to give themselves both a break. Still, that didn't stop Ulquiorra from replaying the entire event in his mind like a broken tape. He was becoming strange; incoherent even, no—make that strange and incoherent, that toxic combination much akin to a malady afflicting wretchedly irrational souls.

Mrs Schiffer's voice came back into focus.

"When you have feelings for someone, you don't think clearly anymore. All you want is to be with the other person. Sometimes you get swept up in the moment and just go with the flow."

"But such behaviour begets only mistakes," Ulquiorra heard himself say.

"Definitely, but we need mistakes to grow, Quiqui. If you're so guarded all the time, how are you going to let the most important people in?" Mrs Schiffer released a soft sigh. "I know what you are thinking right now, my silly child. Just speak your mind, there's only you and me here."

Ulquiorra felt a rare tingle in his senses. He had read before in a book that man could separately or simultaneously experience three kinds of love — of lust, passion and dedication. But that wasn't enough. Those vague words meant nothing to him; they couldn't possibly decipher the torrent of complexities coursing through his veins night after night. He needed an answer, a definitive one — something simple and clear-cut so he could refer to it by heart whenever he ran into a dead-end. Most of all, he needed an answer now.

"What is it like to have feelings for someone?" he asked quietly.

"You mean, how do you know if you're in love?"

"That word is too far of a stretch for me."

Mrs Schiffer sighed softly again. "You're looking at it all wrong, silly boy. Having feelings alone is not love, but rather, love is a whole bundle of feelings you can't escape from. Sometimes you feel giddy about it, sometimes a jolt of electricity tingling down your spine, and sometimes, a calm, simple happiness you get just by walking beside him. It's so nice to hold hands when you walk with him, and your hands become warm and rosy.

"But sometimes you get so mad, you wish that you've never chosen him. Sometimes you just want to break off and move on, and sometimes you can't help but feel so sad because you had thought of giving up. But no matter what you do, that person always comes to your mind. The good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow and even the rage. It's only natural to feel these strong emotions when you love someone. But at the end of it, there's always warmth. You always feel warm when you think of that person. That's how you know you truly love someone, even after they're gone."

Ulquiorra studied his free hand and the lines running across his palm. "How do you know if you have these…feelings? How can you even tell if they are real when you cannot see them? Do you have a definition that you abide by?"

"Because the heart always wins in the end."

Ulquiorra sank back onto the settee, not realising that he had been sitting on the edge of the seat as the conversation with his mother wore on. His left hand was gripping the receiver more tightly than he'd imagined. He could hear what she was saying, he could hear the questions continue to swirl around her words, but he just couldn't fathom what it was like to love someone.

* * *

Ichigo was exhausted each time he awoke from those dreams.

Just where was his mind going now? Filming was set to end soon and he had to dream about Takamatsu Soujiro, Ulquiorra's onscreen character? Or was he dreaming about Ulquiorra dressed up as a Shinsengumi warrior? Was Ichigo under some sort of spell? Think about it—why else would Ulquiorra occupy every inch of his mind, awake or asleep?

Frustrated, Ichigo tried to switch his mind away from all things Ulquiorra, only to start on another movie of his. Eight movies in three years, and Ulquiorra was the lead in five of them. Does that man ever stop for a break, Ichigo wondered. If he keeps up with this punishing pace, he's going to burn out sooner or later.

Even in the movies Ichigo watched, those blasted pink plumes still emanated from Ulquiorra at the most inappropriate times, heightening his vulnerability toward the simplest of onscreen actions performed by the green eyed man. Of course Ulquiorra was utterly convincing in every role he had played, and his role in Autumn Chrysalis was no different. The older man would make sure that he never confused the characters he played with his own self.

So Ichigo, granted that the movie was his debut in such a serious and demanding role, must had gotten some things mixed up along the way—that these odd pangs keeping him up at night and driving him to do stupid things were merely residual of the undying love he had for Takamatsu. He had exhausted his stable of available and imagined emotions to help him prepare for his role.

That must be it.

Ichigo had no other explanation for feeling this way towards a person, what more a man whose callous demeanour had driven him nuts barely four months ago. A man who couldn't be any more different from him, and yet, a man who unceremoniously welcomed him into his taciturn life that many would die just to catch a glimpse of it.

Carefully, Ichigo reached for a blue box under his bed and pulled out a photo album. In it were mostly photos of his family and friends from childhood to high school. He thumbed through the pages quickly to land at the second last page. Looking back at him were the copious polaroid shots he had snapped in the final week at Ulquiorra's loft, with or without the latter's permission. Shots of him posing with different parts of his co-star's living room; with the adorable Sakana; with Ulquiorra; of Ulquiorra; and of their shoulders touching due to the narrow perspective of the instant film. Ichigo was always grinning. Ulquiorra looking ever so impassive at taking informal shots while Sakana stared curiously at everywhere but the camera.

Then there was one—Ichigo had pushed the button just as his unsuspecting co-star looked into the camera, his typically frosty jade gaze briefly replaced by an uncharacteristic tenderness. If he wasn't imagining things, it was the same tenderness that flitted through Ulquiorra's eyes when he adjusted Ichigo's scarf at the empty studio parking lot.

At that moment he remembered what Ulquiorra had said about Aristophanes and how everyone in the world spent their entire lives looking for their other half in order to feel whole again. Ichigo recalled how snug Ulquiorra had felt in his arms when he said those words. Their actions might be feigned, but what Ulquiorra said wasn't lifted from any script. Those words belonged to the raven himself. At that, Ichigo felt a light sensation rising from the pits of his stomach as he removed the Polaroid from the album and slid it into his wallet. He didn't know why he did that, but he knew he had never felt like this before.

* * *

After a morning of poring through the two scenes scheduled for reshoots before the year-end festivities, Ichigo headed downstairs to grab a glass of water when the aping shadow of his father loomed behind him.

"Son!" Kurosaki Isshin boomed. "Are you bringing home your beautiful lover this New Year's eve for our annual Kurosaki feast?"

Ichigo nearly fell down the stairs. "What the hell, old man!" he yelled back. "I almost died!"

The elder Kurosaki conveniently ignored his son's cries and dashed toward him with open arms. "Make sure he stays the night, and then when the new year rolls in, the two of you will be always together! It is a good luck spell, Ichigoooo!"

"You're nuts!" Ichigo hollered, fending off his father's crushing bear hug. "You need to go see a doctor now!"

"I am a doctor!"

His sisters popped up at the rear end of the stair case. "Ichi-nii, are you inviting Ulquiorra-san over for dinner?" Yuzu asked sweetly. Her question was immediately chorused by the other two Kurosakis.

The carrot top felt his face redden at the mention of his co-star's name. "I…I don't know!" he couldn't stop himself from yelling again. "Why do you want him for our new year dinner!"

"Didn't you say that he's free to come by for dinner anytime? We haven't seen him since that time he brought his ginger cat here!" Karin demanded hotly. "Ichi-nii, you are not keeping your promise!"

Ichigo was flabbergasted; he was caught in a pincer attack by his very own family, who obviously preferred the object of his confusion and intermittent blushes to him, the eldest child in the Kurosaki household.

"Ichi-nii, why are you so shy about it?" Yuzu pondered.

"I'm not!"

"Like hell you aren't," Karin retorted. "You know, Ichi-nii, you should show us your wallet."

Ichigo stiffened.

_Shit._

"Karin saw you put a photo into your wallet after smiling at it nonstop," Yuzu said.

"S-since when!" Ichigo stammered.

"About two or three days ago?" Yuzu answered innocently. "Karin says it belongs to Ul—mm mm…" the rest of Yuzu's words were muffled by her brother's hand clamped over her mouth.

"What do you guys want!" the carrot top proffered an accusing finger in his family's faces. "Why are you all ganging up on me suddenly!"

"We are concerned for your negligible love life, my son!" Isshin cried, waterfalls pouring out of his eyes. "We are trying to help you!"

"There's a possibility of Ulquiorra-san displaying some personal interest in you, Ichi-nii," Karin added. "Remember I told you all about the DVDs of your crappy movie he bought on the sly!"

"That doesn't mean anything! For all you know he could be buying the discs to use as coasters or for shuriken training!"

"I doubt he's that type of person, Ichi-nii," Karin argued while her fraternal twin sister nodded fervently.

"You don't know _anything_ about him!"

"Oh I'd do _anything_ to have a superior son-in-law like the great Ulquiorra Schiffer!"

"SON-IN-LAW?" Ichigo squawked in disbelief.

"If you don't invite him over, we can't be sure Ulquiorra-san won't hear of this." Karin held up her brother's brown leather wallet for everyone to see. In the blink of an eye the budding junior girls' team footballer had dashed into Ichigo's room and swiped it. Panicking, Ichigo removed his hand from Yuzu's mouth and made a free grab for his wallet. Of course he failed. Karin wasn't ranked the junior high tournament's best goalkeeper for nothing.

"And you're threatening me now!" Ichigo scowled in defeat.

"Ichi-nii, you should give yourself a shot at love."

Karin agreed with her twin's words. "If not we can always make sure he knows what's in your wallet."

"Such a sweet and scandalous love, son!"

"No one is loving anyone!" Ichigo blasted. His head threatened to explode with the cacophony of noises that was his family. Everyone was yelling their heads off, apart from Yuzu. "Fine, you all win! I'll get Ulquiorra Schiffer to come over for our family dinner on New Year's eve, OK?"

"No matter what?" Isshin's eyes shone—an exhilarated glistening matched by Yuzu's.

"No matter what?" Karin echoed, eyeing her brother suspiciously.

"You heard me," Ichigo huffed as he strode into the kitchen and poured himself a much needed glass of water. "I'll knock him out and drag him here if I have to."

* * *

Both men finally got their wish when they ran into each other outside the primary studio at Soul Pictures ten days before the end of the year. The two weeks of absence had done them a whole lot of good. Ulquiorra was now calmer and less prone to strange ideas of mimicry, while Ichigo learned how to judiciously hide any incriminating evidence of his own confused soul. It was bad enough that his family had found out about the photo in his wallet and was holding him at ransom; he didn't need anyone else knowing.

The two actors stared at each other, drunk in silence, not knowing what to say. So much had been going on in their minds since their last encounter at the parking lot, that they didn't know how to properly react to each other's presence when no one else was around.

Especially Ichigo. How was he supposed to act toward someone whom he had kissed in his sleep at least four or five times? Ichigo would rather die than admit that to anyone.

"I—" they started in unison, their gazes clashing together again like a lightning bolt across the sky. At the unintended contact, both men dropped their stares like two awkward teenagers caught staring at each other in class.

"I was just thinking if you were removed from the production before the year ends," Ulquiorra said, surprised that he was the first to speak.

"You wish. I'm too good for that now," Ichigo refuted, his eyes again meeting Ulquiorra's unreadable gaze. No need to get all nervous now, things are just the same as always. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me. Life must be frightfully boring since you have no one else to diss."

"Are you now considering a second career as a psychic?"

"And have you gone on to become a professional surrogate mom, nagging at naughty kiddos to wear their scarves properly?"

As if responding to Ichigo's remark, Ulquiorra adjusted his own cashmere grey scarf around his neck. It was then that Ichigo realised, for the first time, that Ulquiorra always wore shades of grey, green and black. Not that Ichigo was complaining; those colours brought out the unique shade of teal of his eyes.

"You are staring."

Caught by surprise, Ichigo's first instinct was to clear his throat.

"I'm chuffed by how thick your scarf is. Are you trying to cut off the circulation from your heart to your head? Oh—what am I saying. It isn't even there in the first place!"

Ulquiorra decided to ignore the younger actor. "It is important to keep warm, especially for actors rushing through the final leg of filming."

"You, rushing? I can't imagine that!" Ichigo grinned. "Does that mean your scenes are all done now?"

"Principal photography is almost done. Other than that, everything had gone smoothly and we are right on schedule." Ulquiorra cast a pointed look at Ichigo. "Those were scenes without you in them."

"My scenes went perfectly well too!" Ichigo threw a dirty glare at his co-star. "Scenes without you in them!"

In the back of his mind Ichigo had already prepared a retort, knowing fully well that Ulquiorra the superior one would never let that comment slide. But he obviously wasn't prepared for what was to come.

"You can frame and even hold a scene which doesn't require my presence now. This shows you are not that hopeless after all."

Ichigo gaped at his co-star. "Did you just say something decent about me for once?"

"As usual I state the facts as they appear to me."

"I've never seen someone appearing to insult another, just so he can turn it around as a compliment. No, it happened before. That was you too!" Ichigo's gape etched back into a crooked smile. "I'm seriously impressed. You giving lessons in the art of backhanded insults? Sign me up!"

"Perhaps you should first repay my efforts in coaching you."

"Wasn't it for free? Wasn't it just for the movie?"

"You were clearly the beneficiary of my goodwill, and the coaching is a foundation course that will help you further your career."

"Scroogey McSchiffer."

"What do you have to offer me in return?"

"A good movie," Ichigo deadpanned.

"That is definite. I'm asking, what do you yourself have to offer me in return?"

"You're so hard to please." Ichigo folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "What do you accept for payment?"

Ulquiorra appeared to give it some thought. "You."

Ichigo choked.

Where the hell did that come from? Ichigo tried to ignore his thunderous heartbeat and focused on studying Ulquiorra's face for any change in expression. As usual the older actor was impenetrable. _Me?_

"Shall have dinner with me," Ulquiorra continued in that unnervingly emotionless tone of his.

"Eh—?"

_Wait wait wait—is he trying to ask me out? No, it can't be that. He'll probably order a feast at the most expensive place in Tokyo and take the chance to bankrupt me!_

"On New Year's eve," Ulquiorra added.

_Huh! New Year's eve?! That's super expensive! I'm getting ripped for sure! I shouldn't have bought him that luxurious settee. Now he thinks I have cash to splash._

"At your place."

_There! Finish your sentence goddammit! He said it. He SAID it! Err waittttt—did he just say 'my place'? Isn't that—?_

"How did you know?"

"I received a message from Kurosaki Yuzu. She asked in a most courteous manner. I told her that I would consider her invitation favorably."

"How did she even get your number?"

Ulquiorra looked at Ichigo blankly. "I was told that you gave it to her."

"Oh…ho…err yeah, I must have forgotten. The girls can be very enthusiastic sometimes," Ichigo fibbed, looking everywhere else but at the man in front of him.

_Man…asking Ulquiorra over for dinner was turning out to be more stressful than I thought! Why oh why did I get caught for something that I've done when I was obviously not in the right frame of mind? I must be cursed. The Polaroid—that damned Polaroid in my wallet and the cause of those weird dreams—I'll burn it! And those Polaroids in the photo album—I'll burn them all!_

Noting Ichigo's abrupt silence, Ulquiorra cast a look at the younger man, who appeared to be deep in thought.

"If it is a matter of inconvenience to you, then forget that this conversation took place."

Ichigo snapped his head up at Ulquiorra's words. "When did I say that?"

"You sounded reluctant."

"I was surprised, dammit. Taken aback! Astonished! Next time say your words in one complete sentence, please. Before I die of shock."

"You mean, 'You shall have dinner with me on New Year's eve at your place'?"

"Yea—wait! Why does it sound weirder now that you said everything in one go? Anyway, it's just one more set of utensils to put on the table and an extra serving of food." Then remembering his family's threat against him, Ichigo blurted: "There'll be sweet shrimp soup too! We always use it for the base. You like it, right? It may not be Yuzu making it this time, but I'm not too bad myself. I'll make the tamago rolls with curry lobster too. If your conscience allows you to remember, you kept stealing them from my lunch box that day. I can count very well!"

"Should you likewise recall, as stated under Clause 7 of our agreement, 'If you wish to stay for lunch, prepare my share too'."

"My apologies! It's my fault!" Ichigo punctuated each word with pronounced sarcasm. "To make it up to you, we will include more hotpot styles: Shabu-shabu or sukiyaki style, you decide. I'll give you sliced beef, cheesy meatballs, tofu, mushrooms, diced carrots in sweet shrimp soup base or whatever you want for dinner! For dessert we will serve jouyo manjyu! How does this selection sit with you, Your Highness?"

Ulquiorra was secretly delighted that his co-star actually remembered his favourite foods, even his preference for the traditional Japanese sweet—a bean paste ball shaped like a white sparrow and wrapped with a small dough of grated yam and rice flour. "So you do want me to be there."

"You already offered to come over."

"Because it looked like you were not going to ask."

"Don't bully a shy guy!" Ichigo protested. "In case you don't know, my family doesn't usually invite people over for dinner and it's been a while since I last cooked anything decent. I'll need to level up, especially since our guest happens to be the most demanding person I know." Ichigo directed the last line at Ulquiorra, eyeing him as he spoke. "I'm going to put in some effort for this, so you'd better be there on the 31st!"

"I never make promises I cannot keep," Ulquiorra replied, trying his best to maintain an impassive exterior. His pulse however, was telling a different story.

"You won't be disappointed. You'll love the food I've prepared so much, that you'll keep coming back for more. And when you grovel at my feet to beg me, I will look upon you and say, 'No!'." Ichigo launched into a bout of villainous laughter, squeezing his eyes shut as he cackled. When he opened them, Ulquiorra had already turned to leave.

"That was real polite of you!" Ichigo called after his co-star. "Top in class for basic courtesy as usual!"

"You need to brush that imbecilic look off your face," came Ulquiorra's cool reply as he continued walking down the hallway.

Those were the words he allowed Ichigo to hear; what the younger man didn't see was a small smile from which those very words were uttered.

* * *

All Ichigo wanted was a peaceful end to a busy year, but peace was determined to forsake him. Barely three days after Ichigo had successfully invited his co-star over for dinner, Abarai Renji burst through the Kurosaki home with his tablet in hand and his trademark pony-tail up on the war path. The sight of a certain carrot top still asleep in bed with the covers pulled up to his neck seriously pissed him off. Worst of all, that very man, who usually wore a slight frown when awake, had the tiniest of smiles on his sleeping face. Disturbed by what he saw, Renji stared at his friend and mentally corrected himself.

That wasn't a smile. That was a derpy sleeping face.

Rightly aggrieved, Renji brushed a piece of tissue against Ichigo's nose and watched in wretched delight as the actor's nose wrinkled uncomfortably for a few seconds before breaking into a sneeze.

"What the hell…" Ichigo slurred, only to sneeze again. With the tiny smile now replaced by his signature frown, he reached for the tissue box on the bedside table but it wasn't there. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, only to find Renji's red ponytail in full view. Thinking that he must be having a nightmare after all those pinky plumy dreams, Ichigo shut his eyes and slid back under the blanket.

Renji lightly rapped on Ichigo's forehead with his knuckles.

"Ho, ho, ho. Santa is here."

Ichigo slapped away Renji's hand. "Go back. You're two days early. Come again on the 25th."

"But I come bearing gifts!"

"Shoo before I call the cops on y—" Before Ichigo could finish his sentence, Renji pulled away his blanket and shook him awake. "I come bearing gifts! Gifts from the tabloid gods!"

"So who's seeing who now? And why should I care?" the carrot top muttered as he futilely wrestled for his blanket from Renji's grasp.

Annoyed at his friend's nonchalance, Renji switched on his tablet and zoomed in on a screenshot taken from an article dated 22 December 2009. It was published by the most notorious tabloid newspaper in the country, an agency which gained infamy from sullying the names of major and minor celebrities alike, politicians, sports figures, and anyone with a remote touch of fame. It was at least 10 times worse than Seireitei Nine Daily's gossip column.

"Open your eyes, and feel the weight of tabloid hell on your back!" Renji yelled into his friend's ear, causing the latter to yell back in surprise. The yelling crashed to an abrupt halt when Ichigo finally opened his eyes to the article Renji had on 200 percent zoom on his tablet.

The photo's grainy quality suggested that it was taken at night with low light. In the centre of the picture were two people standing very close to each other, and the closeness of their faces, tilting at a suggestive angle hinted that they could be kissing. The shorter of the two had their back turned to the camera. The taller one was facing the camera, but his identity was protected by the black box placed across his eyes. Around them were empty parking lots and a handful of expensive looking cars. In the corner of the article was another photo taken of the same couple, in presumably the same position as the earlier shot, except this time, the taller of the two appeared to be stroking the other person's face.

"What's this?"

"Probably two famous people kissing in the carpark at night."

"And so?"

"A scintillating scarf-pulling kiss. The stuff of shoujo manga. You can't make this shit up."

"What has it got to do with me?"

"Are you still in la la land?" Renji shrilled in Ichigo's ear once more. "Open your eyes and look carefully! Who does the taller man look like?"

Grumbling curses about crimson bozos under his breath, Ichigo forcibly inched his eyes a tad wider at the tablet screen. Although the taller man wasn't wearing anything spectacular in the photos—a pullover, jeans and a scarf wrapped around his neck, what adorned his feet was an abominable union of socks and slippers. Wouldn't that guy freeze at his impeccably hipster uncle look, Ichigo chortled. Wouldn't he die of embarrassment at his modern interpretation of socks and geta sandals? Wouldn't he—Ichigo's blood ran cold—wouldn't he be…

_Me?_

And if that taller guy in the picture was him, then the other person whose face couldn't be seen was Ulquiorra.

His senses awakened, as if a bucket of cold water was rudely dumped on him, the carrot top took a closer look at the article. The headline wrote: "MYSTERIOUS COUPLE'S INTIMACY HEATING UP THE COLD NIGHT". Apart from the two grainy photos, there were no text, not even captions. There was however, a promise from the tabloid reporter to spill in the upcoming Christmas issue the names of the couple, one of whom was featured 'rather frequently' in the papers this second half of the year.

Ichigo's pulse began to race, either at the recollection of that night, which he had tried very hard to put to bed, or at the thought of someone else being at the empty car park, being privy to what was an entirely private conversation between Ulquiorra and him. Although judging from how the photos were taken, the paparazzi must had been at least ten feet away and might not have heard anything of note.

Noticing his friend's change of expression, Renji snapped his fingers to bring the actor back to earth.

"Got this from the grapevine. If it's of any comfort, you weren't supposed to be the star of this year's XXXMAS EXPOSE, my friend. The paparazzi camping at the carpark was apparently trying to catch some married big shot actor redhanded with his current rumoured squeeze who also happens to be married to some showbiz type. You weren't targeted and yet…wow." Renji released a puff of air he had been holding in his lungs. "Your luck is just…amazing. So amazing that I can forget about my Christmas and New Year and Valentine's and White Day altogether!"

"Why aren't you asking if the photos are real?"

Renji switched off his tablet. "You had the same look of someone who was caught red-handed stealing candy at your local mom and pop store. It's a good look on you."

"I don't get it."

"Huh? You want to give me overtime pay and an all-expenses paid trip to Hawaii?"

Ichigo shoved his pillow in Renji's face. "These must have been taken two weeks ago. Why publish them now?"

"What did you do two weeks ago? Had a carpark rendezvous? Man, I don't care what happens in your private love life, but you've got a contract signed and a commercial promise to keep! I already ran my butt off for you when your blind item broke out in the tabloids two months ago!"

"It's not what you think it is, idiot."

"What I think doesn't matter. It's what the public thinks of you now. That pap obviously waited until now to release the photos for maximum exposure. What do normal people do during the long holiday break? They watch TV, eat KFC, sing karaoke and get wasted! They're free as shit and are relaxed enough to pay attention to tabloid scoops! Thanks to my Samaritan buddy here, that married actor dodged a bullet."

"Can't we just keep quiet about this? None of the crap these tabloids spout are real. Didn't that gossip from October get snuffed out pretty quickly?"

"That's because of me getting hold of those blurry as hell photos, and the lack of definitive evidence that the two people in the car are you and Ulquiorra. Everyone knew that you two would make big waves in the scoops back then, so it got dismissed as fake news soon enough. No one believes a blind item that is too obvious."

Ichigo flashed Renji a disdainful glare. "You sure acted like it was real when the gossip broke out."

"I was only pulling your leg. Even I know how ridiculous that blind item is!"

_It was all because of you and that crazy freak with puffy cerulean hair!_ Ichigo miffed inwardly.

Renji held up two fingers. "Now, there are two problems. One—even with your eyes blacked out, it's obviously you in the photo." As if to emphasize his point, Renji lowered his forefinger, leaving the middle finger raised. "Two—no matter how you scrutinize this person's back view, she obviously doesn't look like Inoue! This person may be wearing a coat, but it's clear as day she doesn't have hips! Her shoulders are straight too, with no sign of roundedness. If anything her figure resembles a m—" Renji trailed off upon realizing what he had stumbled upon.

"A…man? Is that…a man?!" the redhead wheezed.

"What's the big deal? You can easily write off those photos as a friendly interaction."

"Friendly my ass! Why the hell would you suddenly touch someone's cheek like that in the middle of the night? A man's cheek at that!" Renji jabbed an offending finger at his own cheek. "And don't get me started on the kiss! You two were obviously making out!" Then narrowing his eyes in a conspiratorial fashion at Ichigo, Renji pressed on, "Why, did the movie ignite some closeted desire in you?"

"It was cold."

"Oh ho. You were using that man's cheek and mouth as a heater? Seriously? His cheek and freaking mouth?"

"It was his face, OK! Stop saying 'cheek'! And we absolutely did not do anything of that sort! I only touched his face, damn you!" Ichigo wrapped the blanket around himself indignantly.

"Tell that to the internet boards that are lighting up your thread now. Tell that to your fans who are protecting your honour from the other keyboard warriors! 'It was cold and my fingers were freezing so I heated them up on this stranger's cheek and because it was not warm enough, I had to kiss him. But don't worry, it's all because of how cold I was!' Do you have any idea how crazy it sounds?"

"How would I know that he'd wait there for me even after we're done with our scenes! How would I know that he was bothered by our sex scene filmed in the morning? It wasn't even anything raunchy! Sheesh. Give me a break."

Renji threw his best friend a look of disbelief.

For the second time that month, Ichigo sincerely wished that he could roll back time and take back his words. "You didn't hear anything," he mumbled mutely.

"So you're saying that the other person in the photo is…" Renji couldn't bring himself to say the name. To say it would mean he was facing a world he should never had come to know. Ichigo's silence and reddening ears only magnified how ludicrous the whole situation was.

"Oh god." Renji cast his tablet aside and smacked his head with the pillow Ichigo had earlier chucked at him. "I need my meds."


	30. A Warm Winter: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's the new chapter at last—was hoping to get it out by Christmas but a fair bit of stuff happened. Glad to make it in time before winter ends, and thank you all so much for waiting. I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> Disclaimer: BLEACH and its characters belong to Kubo Tite.

Abarai Renji barely slept for the past two nights.

Partly from the shock at what really happened at the parking lot, but mostly from the mounting phone calls he had to fend off when he returned to the agency office right after blasting Ichigo with the news. Renji had to cobble up some sort of explanation to the agency honchos, who, like the redhead, were blindsided by the photos. But he was also careful to omit whatever Ichigo had revealed, insisting to them that it was just a misunderstanding. He knew how the agency was concerned with the recent spate of rumours that threatened to put their increasingly bankable star in a bad light, and there was no way they would put up with more, not when Ichigo was on the cusp of true movie stardom.

While it may not be newsworthy when a serial cheater gets caught in the act, it's definitely something of note when a rising star who built his public image as a suave, cool, but good guy, is the offender. The Asian entertainment industry takes the values of their favourite celebrities very seriously.

In short, Renji needed to deal with this situation carefully, and come up with some brilliant media ploy that would leave his best friend's reputation untainted.

The photos he showed Ichigo were now plastered on tabloids in Tokyo and internet forums, with many speculating the identities of the two fuzzy silhouettes. Naturally, Ichigo's name popped up one too many times in the searches and forum posts, and it became a foregone conclusion that he was involved in the midnight rendezvous. Within the span of a day, the intense debate switched to the mysterious person whose face wasn't captured by the camera and with it, came forth the ravenous paparazzi, stalking the agency office, thirsting for a piece of the actor.

Renji dodged the reporters by slipping through the side gate on his way out, skulking across a quiet neighbourhood park before getting into his car. He had been seen with Ichigo a few times at press conferences—surely some of them would have seen his face before, so he decided to be extra careful by parking at a distance from the office. Renji rubbed his temples irritably as he adjusted the rear view mirror, checking several times to make sure that no one was following him as he circled the streets before entering the main road to the highway.

 _It's all my fault,_  Renji thought miserably as he cruised down the highway.  _I made Ichigo do the movie, and I laughed at him. He complained about Ulquiorra for the longest time and I laughed at him again. It's payback for all the laughing I did._ Renji was then reminded of that afternoon when he lost his mind and smashed the miniature Ichigo and Ulquiorra felt dolls together in a passionate kiss. That must be it. That cottony kiss must have brought about the sudden change in their relationship!

As the redhead drove down the highway to the Kurosaki home, he checked the rearview mirror every now and then to make sure no one was following him. Then again, nobody would ever imagine that the popular idol-turned-actor with a flashy appearance was actually staying with his family in a nondescript two-storey house on the outskirts of Tokyo.

* * *

Ichigo was reading the latest release of his favourite manga at his desk when the redhead came around. The actor would usually mutter a "Yo" by way of greeting whenever Renji came over, but he didn't this time, and his body remained stooped over the desk, as if deep in thought. Standing by the doorway, Renji realised it wasn't that Ichigo was immersed in the manga. No one stares at a single-page panel for several minutes, no matter how fascinating the manga may be.

Renji cleared his throat. "Heya."

Ichigo's head snapped up at once, as if he was rudely jolted from deep thought. Realising that it was the redhead, he visibly relaxed. "Oh it's you. Say something when you're here. Don't scare me like that."

Renji dropped off his knapsack at the door and sat at the foot of Ichigo's bed, stretching his long legs in front of him after an hour's drive. "You know, I'm finding it really hard to look you in the eye. That's me, by the way. Not the old fogeys I had to be nice to at the meeting."

"Then don't." Ichigo returned to his manga. "You can staple your eyes shut while you talk."

"Ouch. Who did you pick up that mean guy talk from?" Renji feigned a hurtful look. "I didn't know that you can absorb another person's personality by swapping saliva." The redhead watched in delight as Ichigo squirmed in his chair, obviously trying very hard to read the manga and pretending that he never heard Renji at all.

Ichigo spoke with his face hidden behind the manga. "What did they say?"

Renji tried to disguise his smirk behind a mask of professional ardor. "The usual…you know. Take care of these stuff yourself, and it's best if we can turn crisis into opportunity."

"Crisis? Don't make me laugh. Give it another week or two and no one will remember this."

The redhead shrugged. "They think you're doing very well to get your name out and about through the filming process, to the point where you're starting to outshine Ul—"

"—Bullshit," Ichigo cut in.

"If we ride this wave carefully, it'll bode well for you. 2010 is going to be a step up in terms of your career. Since Ulq—" Renji was interrupted by Ichigo's sudden bout of throat clearing. "Since your co-star doesn't dabble much in the movie promotion stuff, the bulk of the demand will fall to you. I've been talking to some broadcasters, and they are thinking of having you host some short programs about the Bakumatsu period as a tie-in to the movie."

"Fine with me."

"And then about you kissing Ulq—"

Ichigo flung the manga down on the table, revealing the fine flush creeping across his cheeks. "We—did—not!"

"Chill, dude. I didn't reveal your little secret. They probably thought it's just some girl you met, or maybe a stylist from the movie. Right now, the most important thing is to get the first word out before people go crazy with speculation. We need to manage this carefully. I can see there are three things at stake here: your reputation, Inoue's reputation, and Ulq—" Renji cleared his throat quickly when he noticed Ichigo's stare threatening instant death sent his way. "You know who I mean. Anyway, I've thought up something already."

"What?"

"Since your eyes in the tabloid picture are blacked out and the other person's face cannot be seen, you have two options. One, keep silent that it is you in the picture, and make tons of obvious-but-not-obvious hints that the one you are kissing is Inoue—"

"For the thousandth time I repeat—"

Renji interrupted the actor's protest and continued: "We need to get Inoue's cooperation for this and have her dressed up in more boxy clothes so that her silhouette would match Ul—", he quickly corrected himself, "—the other person in the picture. It's a good thing they are shorter than you. It's perhaps the only good thing to emerge from this shit!"

Ichigo waved Renji's cry away. "What's the second option?"

"Pretend that the man in the picture isn't you at all. Defend this lie to the death and never speak of it again," Renji said. "No matter what people say, insist that they got it wrong and then pray with all your heart that a big enough scandal erupts soon enough and yours will be happily buried and forgotten. Then two or three weeks later, tweet something cryptic like 'Don't always believe everything you read', and get your name back in the limelight again. If everything works out perfectly, it should be in time for the release of the first Autumn Chrysalis teaser in mid February. How does that sound?"

Ichigo's frown turned from annoyance to thoughtfulness as he mulled over the two choices. "Like you said, it's pretty obvious that the man in the photo is me. Wouldn't it get worse if I deny it? But there's no point in dragging Inoue into this."

"It's either A or B. The longer you wait to come out and clarify things, the worse it's gonna get. Do you want to be labelled a cheater, or a man who loves his girlfriend so much that he can't keep his hands off her even at a stinkin' carpark? Do you know the commercial fallout if the public sees you as that? We're talking endorsements struck off—and I worked my guts out to land you that sportswear deal next spring, I'm not gonna see it go up in smoke. In case we're going for A, I've got the guys on standby to work the internet forums and plant nuggets of our narrative here and there to make everyone think that you were with Inoue that night. The press is going to be hot on your toes soon, it's the best time to make them work for you and paint the story you want everyone to see."

Renji paused, watching his best friend lurch in silence. The redhead searched for traces of guilt on the actor's face but he found only a deepening frown that formed a crease in the space between his eyebrows.

"I swear it won't be before long until someone starts putting two and two together from those blind items in September. It's nice to have your name widely discussed from time to time, but too much smoke and people will know something is up for sure."

Ichigo spun around in his chair meaninglessly as Renji's tirade appeared lost on him. The redhead wondered what was going through Ichigo's mind since yesterday—from that abrupt reddening of cheeks to his listless demeanour. Renji had a dozen questions which he had been itching to ask his best friend since September, when he noticed Ichigo was hardly home and barely replied his messages, and then out of the blue there were those unverified blurry snaps of him and Ulquiorra stepping out of a motel together. But as brazenly honest as Ichigo was, he could also be stubbornly tight-lipped when he wanted to be, to the point of sheer opacity. What on earth was Ichigo hiding from him?

"Oi, stupid strawberry. We've been friends since what, middle school?"

"Elementary, idiot."

"See, on account of our long ass friendship, you can come clean with me. Is there something going on between you and someone that I don't know about?"

For the second time that day Renji studied his friend's face for any giveaway of his true feelings, and was so caught up in trying to charge Ichigo as guilty, that he failed to see Ichigo discreetly adjusting his body to block the wallet on his desk from Renji's view. Ichigo cursed himself for not removing a certain offending picture from his wallet. It wasn't as if he had looked at the picture again. He had purely forgotten that it was still in there. That was all.

"Nope. Nothing. Zero. Zilch."

Renji narrowed his eyes at Ichigo. "Then where the hell were you hiding for almost the whole of September?"

"Huh? I was busy practising my lines. I needed full concentration to work on my scenes."

Renji decided to take the plunge. "With your  _co-star_?"

"Yeah. Telepathically."

"Come on. I haven't heard any juicy news from you since what…high school?" The redhead kicked at his friend's feet in annoyance. "You denied it forever and then just two months before graduating, you finally 'fessed up that you've been dating that girl from your activity club for eight months! Speaking of which, didn't she have short black hair, something of a pixie cut? I recall she was rather pale too, with large sparkly eyes." Renji eyed Ichigo knowingly before releasing a mock gasp. "Oh my. Do you have a type?"

"It was only three months for crying out loud." Ichigo folded his arms impatiently. "And it ended by the time I told you."

"That girl confessed to you and you agreed to go along with it because she's a fan of Audrey Hepburn! Right?"

"…I guess so."

"What did you do together?"

"Watched some movies, I think."

"And? Are you leaving out the juicy details on purpose?"

"We did some digging around the shops for old films. That's pretty much what I can remember."

Renji's expression rapidly switched from one of anticipation to boredom. "You mean you formed a two-person oldie movie fan club. Didn't you do anything…and I mean, anything, at all? Like holding hands or even ki—"

"What are you on about? Of course it wasn't appropriate to do anything more!"

The redhead couldn't help but inwardly contrast his best friend's conservative words with his salacious scenes with Ulquiorra onscreen. Kurosaki Ichigo was truly an adult man now, willing to go above and beyond what he had to do. Still inexperienced, though. Renji swallowed his inner mirth and gave the actor another quick glance. Who knew how many takes they had to do to get the picky director's approval?

"You didn't keep in touch?"

Ichigo shrugged. "There wasn't much to talk about."

"But she liked the same movies as you did. You just said so yourself."

"Many people like Audrey Hepburn's movies. Does that mean I have to date them all?"

"You certainly started the ball rolling, my friend with the cute name."

"It's not me, OK?" Ichigo grew defensive. "How can you call yourself a fan when you can't even remember those classic lines between Princess Ann and Joe Bradley? I don't understand these people."

"I don't understand you either!"

Renji's sudden outburst earned a look of surprise from the actor. Embarrassed, the redhead cleared his throat. "What I'm hearing is, if someone were to exchange movie dialogues with you now, word for word, you would date them even if you don't like them?"

"None of you wanted to watch the films with me and I thought it was fun to finally discuss them with someone who got it," Ichigo shot back irritably. "It wasn't anything serious then." He paused to throw another dirty look at his friend. "For your info, whatever you think is happening between that packet of ice cubes and me is not going to happen at all."

"You mean Ul—"

"You of all people should know why I agreed to the contract with Inoue."

Renji held up his forefinger and recounted exactly what Ichigo adamantly told him two years ago. "Number 1 - I want to focus on my acting." Another finger. "Number 2 - I want to get better at my acting." A third finger. "Number 3 - I'm going to become an actor so good that I'll disappear completely into the role."

"Add Number 4 - I'll become the best actor in Japan."

"Really? You're going to dethrone Ul—"

"No one can stay at the top forever." Ichigo reached for his wallet on the table and dumped it inside his bag. "Anyway, I've decided. Since we can't outrun the tabloid machine, then like you said, we'll make it work for us."

Renji sighed inwardly. Ichigo might had eluded him again, but Renji promised himself that for the sake of his own dignity and maybe curiosity, he would wring the truth out of the actor one day. Or perhaps, seeing how distracted he looked, Renji would come knocking again when Ichigo could finally sense that something creeping under his skin.

"Great. I'll start ringing up the folks on standby. What's next?"

"Get me a place at the usual restaurant at eight tonight. I'll call Inoue."

* * *

The last time Ulquiorra visited his mother in Hakodate was two years ago. It was in December too, sometime after his 23rd birthday. He had almost forgotten how bright the port city was in winter, with layers and layers of white dusted everywhere: on rooftops, on the roads, piling up on driveways that hadn't been cleared. It made him feel more conspicuous than ever, and he took great pains to disguise himself whenever he headed out.

Knowing that he would end up jostling with the crowds at the famous Hakodate sights at this time of the year, he wore colored contacts that veiled the distinctive green of his irises, had his hair cut after five months of pure neglect, and wore a thick snood that covered the lower part of his face, all under the guise of keeping his nose warm. In his casual get-up, he was virtually unrecognizable unless you looked really closely. Even then you could argue that the man himself was at best a lookalike.

Of course, if Ulquiorra had a choice, he would not leave his mother's apartment at all. Since he arrived a week ago with Sakana, Mrs Schiffer sent him out on errands everyday, and insisted that they complete a short hike before dinner each time. She demanded that he inhale as much 'cool forest air' as his lungs could possibly fill, because in Tokyo, where he worked and lived, there were so many people fighting for the same mouthful of air. She was worried that he might faint one day.

Ulquiorra settled into a window seat at a traditional coffee house along Motomachi. It was one of those rare days his mother didn't send him running around the whole of Hakodate to buy some special grade of salt or cheese snaffle. Instead, she had asked that he accompany her for a stroll around the local port.

"Is this about inhaling cool sea breeze?" Ulquiorra asked as they walked the length of the port.

"Oh? Isn't our Quiqui already salty enough?"

"Salty?"

Mrs Schiffer chuckled.

"Mother, please explain."

"Why don't you ask Ichi-kun? He's a smart boy. I'm sure he knows the answer!"

The raven didn't know what his mother was driving at by mentioning his co-star's name out of the blue. She'd continue to bring up his name every now and then for the rest of his time in Hakodate, her soft brown eyes crinkling in mirth as she crooned the end of her nickname for him. He recalled how they had teamed up to infuriate him, and how his mother's overly generous sharing of his childhood had allowed the younger actor to learn of his greatest weakness. To think he even had the nerve to exploit it.

Ulquiorra placed his face near the window and gazed at the wintry backdrop sloping down to Hakodate Port. It was almost five p.m., anytime from now the darkness would rise from the sea and spread across the face of the city. Sitting at the same spot, watching the same sunset unfold over Motomachi while the earthy aroma of coffee filled the shop, was something he had grown familiar with. Ever since Mrs Schiffer moved back to her hometown when he turned twenty, he'd return every June and December to stay with her, with his longest stay lasting two months. He chose to take refuge here, after his breakout role in his third movie turned him into one of the most sought after actors in Japan. It was also here that he decided to alter his public appearance through a touch of makeup down his cheeks, so that he could hide in plain sight.

Mrs Schiffer returned with two cups of black coffee and a small plate of red bean cookies. "Good old Hakodate. All that snow, and you still can never get sick of seeing the same scene every year."

"It will be sometime before I can see this view again."

"Things around here don't change much, Quiqui. What you see now will still be here when you return."

"Is that so."

Ulquiorra took his coffee and held it under his nose. For some reason, he had been feeling unsettled since he came to Hakodate, and the whiff of freshly brewed coffee set him at ease, if only briefly. He had so many questions to ask and so little time left. It didn't help that his mother's words from their phone call continued to hammer into his head, refusing to give him peace. He took a sip from the cup and set it down on the table. He'd expected the coffee to warm him up, but the indoor heating must be faulty. That would explain the chilliness in the coffeehouse. The actor buried his hands in the pockets of his coat, the same long, straight green one he wore at the parking lot. His fingers subconsciously dug into the seams, as though searching out the faint warmth he received from Ichigo's scarf that night.

"You're making that face."

"What face?"

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Like you're trying to crack the toughest math problem in the world. In your mind, you must be trying to sort everything into their right categories, string them into an equation, and then solve for the unknown variable. I've seen it before." Her smile grew wider. "Your old man had that same face too. I think that was when he debated whether he should marry me or not." The smile became soft laughter that filled their corner. "I guess it's the kind of face you make when you're thinking about the things that can change your life in a flash."

Mrs Schiffer put two brown sugars in her coffee and stirred. "At that time, your dad kept quoting this philosopher, thinking that someone who has been dead ages ago could influence his life. It was so ridiculous that I didn't bother remembering his name. I can vaguely recall that he said something to this effect: life was a constant experiment waiting to be proven, so it's important to get results. Real, rock solid results to prove to the world that your life wasn't lived in vain. Of course, we had a long argument about that."

Ulquiorra's fingers were still bunched together in his pockets. He was certain that other than the vague sensation of something unfamiliar stinging his fingertips, he was holding nothing but an inept imagination, something that should had been banished together with his flu long ago. Was this the same tingling feeling he had when Ichigo revealed that he had truly wanted him over for dinner, and at the same time divulged that he had been paying attention to what Ulquiorra liked? Was that not a coincidence? Was it anything special to Ichigo? Ulquiorra stopped himself. The carrot top did have a good memory, so it shouldn't be a surprise that Ichigo could remember the finer details regarding other people's lives. Of course, these were merely pure speculations with no way to verify them. What was confirmed; what really existed, was his career in film, ready to launch on the biggest stage. He drank his coffee, which was fast turning cold.

"It's the same for Aizen-san's plans regarding my career. They are clear and precise. I can see how my career will pan out two years from now, being involved in movies written for different audiences, acting in roles that I have not tried before, experiencing a spectrum of emotions previously foreign to me, expressing my lines in a language I am not accustomed to. These are outcomes you can grasp. Besides, I've tried all kinds of roles over the years, to the point I think there are no more roles in Japanese cinema for me."

Such familiar words to his ears. Oh yes—he had a similar chat with Aizen when they discussed his growing overseas opportunities late last year. The variety of movies he had acted in just under four years also spoke volumes about his potential to scale the very pinnacle of acting. He'd repeated them often enough to himself, they gave him conviction to complete what could possibly be his final role in Japan. Then why now, of all times, did he feel like he was playing a character of his own making, saying the words he thought he should say, for his own sake?

"Moving to the US is the only choice. There will be no changes, even if I have not officially signed the contract." Ulquiorra's voice became low and quiet, as though he was talking to himself.

Mrs Schiffer glanced at her son. That distant, almost melancholic expression on his face. Did he look like this too, when he fielded question after question over the phone last week with dogged persistence? His attempts to reason out the sheer fatigue that the heart brings; his impatience to nail down a fact he could adhere to, all pointed to him not just searching for any answer, but for one that resonated with his beliefs, so he could rubbish whatever was bothering him and go on with his life, just the way he'd wanted it to be. Even now, although he might not have realized it, he was rejecting everything she had said.

"That's good, if you're certain of it."

A barely discernible nod of the head was all Ulquiorra offered.

Mrs Schiffer couldn't help but laugh at her son's muted response. Ulquiorra looked at her, puzzled.

"Mother?"

"It's just...since you're so sure, then why are you still making that face?"

Ulquiorra promptly averted his mother's inquiring eyes and stared at his coffee instead. He took his time to finish the last of his coffee, the bitterness of the brew biting the back of his tongue. The sun was beginning to set. Outside the coffeehouse, a group of travellers came and left, their chatter temporarily lifting the darkness that blanketed the city. Silence was supposed to accompany nightfall in this part of Hokkaido. To Ulquiorra, it served only to amplify the noise in his head. The unease eating away at him had returned, but the coffee was now gone.

"Mother, do you remember what you told me over the phone? You said that the heart always wins in the end."

"That's right."

"How do you decide that something as singular and fragile as a heart will bring victory and not a loss?"

"That's the risk you have to take. In the end, all you can do is close your eyes and leap off the plank, and pray that someone catches you before you hit the ground."

"It does not make sense to place your life in an imaginary person's hands. The repercussions are grave."

"Some people think it's worth it."

"Will it still be worth it if they lose everything else in the process?"

Mrs Schiffer gave it some thought. "It depends on how much your heart wants to beat for the other person, even if you end up with nothing in the end."

Halfway through their conversation, Ulquiorra had unknowingly bunched up his fingers in the coat pockets again. The tingling in his fingertips became more pronounced, as if attempting to shake the conviction he held so staunchly toward his future. A visible, measurable one, but volatile no less. Precisely because of that, there was no room for hesitation. There shouldn't be any. But right now, Ulquiorra knew that if he didn't say the words he'd wanted to say, not for his own sake and not for a future he could evidently grasp, he might never have the chance to say them again.

"Will I look like a child, if I were to admit right now, that I don't know what I will lose if I leave?" Ulquiorra spoke slowly, as though each word weighed like lead in his mouth. "Will it be childish and irresponsible of me, if I say I don't know what I will lose if I don't go there?"

He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, although the words he was saying out loud were unmistakably in his own voice. He almost felt betrayed by himself, yet still the words stubbornly trickled out, wanting to see the light of the day

Mrs Schiffer was equally, if not more, taken aback. She didn't expect her normally aloof son to be this upfront with her. Mrs Schiffer's thoughts drifted back to the sprightly young man she saw with her son when she went to Tokyo. While she wasn't familiar with the local entertainment scene and hardly went to the movies, she knew he was an actor. Her colleagues at the clinic had gushed about him before, saying that the hot vampire boy with bright orange hair and the burning brown gaze was perfect son-in-law material. She couldn't be any more surprised to see him at Ulquiorra's place, behaving so cheekily around her serious son. Ichigo was evidently comfortable in his surroundings, which meant that he had been to Ulquiorra's home often enough. Ulquiorra wasn't the type to invite people to his home, and she was sure that habit of his remained unchanged even as he now stayed alone in a ridiculously big apartment. Ulquiorra might not know it himself, but she saw how he reacted towards Ichigo with the naïveté of a curious child, catching every action or message of his and hitting it back across the court, as if testing the multitude of reactions he could extract from the younger actor, who always responded with his own feisty choice of words.

Ulquiorra wasn't exactly known for his conversational skills, even as a child. He mainly stayed in the background, but when he spoke, he was as direct and blunt as his father. Even more than his father, there was sometimes a ruthless edge to his words, and he would risk offending people. Mrs Schiffer felt that perhaps she had worried for Ulquiorra's safety, that she enrolled him in kendo classes as a child. The fact that he excelled at it, flying through the technical levels with masterful ease while being terrible at swimming, was something else unexpected altogether. If it took just one dinner for her to see the kind of effect Ichigo had on her son, then he must had known that something was not quite right, and that something, whatever that might be, didn't have the appropriate vocabulary in his dictionary.

"Let's do this one at a time." Mrs Schiffer shuffled the empty cutlery to one side of the table, and urged her son to place his hands on the table, palms up.

"The first and most important step is when you find that something you've been searching for. I honestly can't tell you how it'll look like, or how long you'll take to find it. All I know that it's often small and difficult to see, and it pops up when you least expect it." She pursed her fingers together to mimic the awkward clamber of a small chick as it climbed onto her son's outstretched hand. "When you find it, and when you do really find it, grasp it in your hand at once so you will never lose it." Using her other hand, she closed his fingers around it, as though he was nursing something precious in the heart of his palm.

"Like this." Mrs Schiffer ended off her flourish with a light tap on Ulquiorra's still-closed hand. "This is your victory already, finding that tiny elusive thing to hold in your hand."

"A victory that I can hold, but a victory that may not have a real outcome after all. This is contradictory."

"It is logical, if you want it to be."

"How so, Mother? Why does it make perfect sense to you, and not to me?"

"Because to someone as simple as your mother," Mrs Schiffer covered her son's hand tenderly, "this is something that I just cannot lose."

Ulquiorra stared at his hand, still balled up loosely around something that could not yet be seen. He knew he would continue to be haunted by what she said, until he found what was his to hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The places mentioned in this chapter are found in Hakodate, a popular seaside resort town in Hokkaido. I was researching for a badly-needed trip recently and ended up searching for Hakodate sunsets. It's breathtaking—Japanese streets and snow against the yolk orange sheen of sunset. I hope to go there, squeeze among the tourists, and see it for myself someday!
> 
> It's a talky chapter—thanks for getting through it! I hope it didn't bore you too much, and feel free to leave me your thoughts in the comments section! 
> 
> In other news, the next chapter is almost done (also a bit talky) and I'll be uploading it after I'm done with editing. Sorry for taking so long with this, and please look forward to it :)


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